Kalasin's betrothal
by Lady Berenice
Summary: FINISHED! When a marriage is arranged for Jonathan and Thayet's eldest daughter, neither the groom nor his people are quite what anyone expects. Followed by 'Queen Kalasin' and 'A Meeting of Magics' AU since the release of 'Trickster's Choice'
1. Introduction

Tortall fanfic  
  
The usual deal: Tortall and all its inhabitants and fixtures, including its deities and assorted Immortals, major and minor characters, from Alanna to the second stone from the right on the road from Trebond to Corus, Tortall's neighbours, and everything even remotely connected to Tortall are the property of Tamora Pierce. It would be pretty useless suing me anyway because I've only got Australian dollars (and not very many of those, either) which are running second only to the Turkish lira in plummeting value against the US dollar anyway.   
  
Oh, I haven't got around to reading Squire yet (it doesn't come out here for a few more months), so some things may be different.  
  
Kalasin's betrothal  
  
Sarain had fallen.   
  
After decades of civil war, it was not any of the Warlords who had declared themselves over the years, none of the noble families, none of the K'miri clans. The new rulers of Sarain came from beyond the Roof Of the World, and Empire so old it did not have a name. An Empire so powerful it didn't need one, for it ruled lands as far as the eye could reach beyond the mountains.   
  
They had watched the wars with great interest, moving their troops in only when all sides had fought to a standstill, moved in with their fleet light cavalry, their famed heavy cavalry, the never-ending waves of their infantry. They had invaded Sarain with barely a single casualty on their side, because what little resistance they encountered was often too busy fighting among themselves to come to any semblance of order.  
  
After they had conquered Sarain, they sent messengers to all the lands that lay further to the west - from Galla, Maren and Cathark all the way to the Yamani Empire and the Copper Isles. But it was to Tortall that a special message was sent. Tortall, with its Queen the only surviving member of the old Sarain royal house. Tortall, with its two half-Sarain, quarter-K'miri princesses, conveniently near in age to the only Imperial Prince, who would provide a most suitable way to manage a sensitive new province.  
  
  
Corus  
  
I...In light of the recent marriage of the Emperor Kaddar of Cathark, we would be most gratified if your Majesty would consider the suit of Our son, Prince Yevgen for your daughters, their Highnesses, the Princesses Kalasin and Lianne. If your Majesty is agreeable, We shall be agreeable to opening negotiations as soon as is practicable..... /I  
  
"Well." King Jonathan said as the scribe read through the rest of the letter, most of it standard diplomatic waffle. The real point had been made. "What do we know of this Empire?"  
  
"Old. And evidently possessed of a first-class intelligence service," Sir Myles of Olau observed, with just a trace of professional envy. "From the date, they knew about the Emperor's marriage as soon as any of the Eastern lands. Their counter-intelligence is just as professional. I haven't been able to get anything more than marketplace gossip from their provincial towns, and virtually nothing from the capital. The Empire," he started to sound as though he were beginning a lecture. Since most of those on the King's Council table had been his students, they listened avidly, "is currently ruled by an Empress - Vanaria, and their throne is passed to the eldest daughter. Prince Yevgen is unlikely to be the heir, as there are at least two princesses in the family. However, he is likely to receive a substantial gift from the Crown on the occasion of his marriage. The Empress may be considering making Sarain a part of that gift, which is why she seeks alliance from the last surviving members of the royal family." He nodded slightly to Queen Thayet.   
  
Thayet exchanged a look with her husband before sighing. As the Doi woman had said, so many years ago, Sarain was a lost dream. She would never return there.   
  
Perhaps one of her daughters would build a better Sarain.   
  
"I shall need to speak to both of my daughters," she said, standing gracefully. "I trust that all of you will decided as is appropriate."  
  
She left the chamber before she could scream.  
  
__  
  
Bersone, The capital of the Empire  
  
"Radanae!"   
  
She would know that voice anywhere. Dama Radanae Gavrillian, personal aide/secretary to Ambassador Hypathia Lansherry, spun around, almost dropping the currycomb in the thick straw at her feet. Her destrier, Luana, nudged her with disapproval, but Radanae barely noticed.  
  
"Justinia!" she waved to her former roommate and fellow knight, as the taller woman picked her way into the knights' stables to stand by Luana's stall. "What are you doing back here?"  
  
Dama Justinia Ferox snorted. "Honor Guard to Tortall. The end of the world. I saw them packing Lansherry's chariot outside. Where are you off to?"  
  
Radanae smiled. "Tortall. Negotiations for one of their princesses for Yevgen."  
  
Justinia raised an eyebrow, then sighed. Radanae and Justinia had both been in the same graduating class of the Knight's Academy as Prince Yevgen and his twin sister, Princess Berenice.   
  
Radanae and Justinia were examples to the exactly two careers possible for knights. Justinia was a traditional 'military' knight, who rode patrols, commanded garrisons and fought in the front lines during campaigns. Virtually all male knights, and slightly over half the female knights chose that life. Radanae, on the other hand, was in the remainder, who trained as diplomats, ambassadors, judges and administrators. Her superior, Ambassador Lansherry, was once that most unusual of things, both - at least until a crushed leg in a jousting accident had removed her from the active rolls permanently.   
  
"Are any of them coming?" Justinia asked, meaning Yevgen, Berenice and their elder sister, the Imperial Heir, Rislyn.  
  
"No." Radanae shook her head. "Yevgen was, originally, but..."   
  
They all knew. Prince Yevgen had not been at all happy about the prospect of an arranged marriage, and after a confrontation with his mother, had been confined to the Palace grounds for the foreseeable future. Rislyn and Berenice had other responsibilities in the provinces.   
  
  
Several weeks later, the Tortallan sector of the fleet that had set off from the Empire for the Eastern lands finally caught sight of their destination, Port Caynn, where they would be met by Sir Gareth of Naxen, the King's Prime Minister, and Sir Alanna, the King's Champion.   
  
Justinia and other members of the Honor Guard had been practicing their weaponsdrill on the top deck, a most exhilarating sight, involving a great many athletic and acrobatic movements, the best that could be managed in the confined space. The knights had been forced to go down to the lower decks to exercise their destriers by lunge, since there was not enough room below to ride them, nor was it safe or practical enough to take them to the upper levels.   
  
Radanae, though she was a better-than-average fighter and a good fencer, spent most of her time on deck studying their destination, with only two practice sessions a day - practically a holiday for an Imperial Knight. She was religiously working her way through a pile of books that appeared, from the bright markings on their spines, to have been filched from the Imperial University Library.   
  
She read aloud a passage of interest as Justinia walked towards her, toweling off after yet another session that she had won in her typical convincing fashion.  
  
"...while K'miri, Yamani, and Shang societies have long histories of female warriors, Tortall is the only Eastern land to officially grant knighthood to women. To date, there has been only one recorded female knight in the last few centuries, Sir Alanna of Trebond, Olau and Pirate's Swoop, the King's Champion. She is a legendary figure in the Eastern lands, allegedly disguising herself as a boy for eight years to earn her knighthood. She is credited with foiling two attempted coups by Duke Roger of Conte, a minor royal, initializing peace treaties with the Bazhir people of Tortall's desert region, and introducing Queen Thayet, formerly a Princess of Sarain, to Tortall."  
  
"Impressive lady." Justinia commented, sitting down beside her friend on the deck.   
  
"Which begs the question," Radanae said, shutting the book, "of why there aren't more of them here?"  
  
Land was getting closer, and several figures on the dock were becoming visible.   
  
"As to that," Justinia replied, "We'll find out soon enough."  
  
  
It was sweltering on the dock as the ship came into view. It was huge, easily towering over the most impressive of those in the Royal Navy, and bore the arms of a diplomatic vessel.  
  
"What do we know of the Empire?" Gary asked casually.  
  
"You were there when Sir Myles told us," Alanna snapped. "There's barely a mention of them in the Royal Library, and that makes me uneasy, especially when they seem to know so much about this side of the world."  
  
"There wasn't a single navigational mistake in the entire fleet on the way here," Gary observed. "Each ship broke off from the main fleet at precisely the right time, and arrived at their destinations exactly as planned."  
  
"As this one is," Alanna muttered as the ship drew closer.  
  
  
In the main cabin, Ambassador Lansherry and the rest of her diplomatic staff were getting ready. Justinia and the rest of the Honor Guard were donning their ceremonial uniforms - shirts, breeches, velvet tunics, engraved breastplates and half-visored helmets. They were meant to present the military might and discipline of the Empire.  
  
The Ambassador and her staff, however, represented the grandeur and wealth of the Empire. Lansherry wore a simple sleeveless silk dress in ruby read, but it was completely overshadowed by the rich embroidered mantle she wore in elaborate folds. Radanae and another knight, Dama Ryane, helped the Ambassador fix her flowing silver-gilt locks with a heavy diamond and opal tiara.  
  
Radanae and the rest of the diplomatic staff would wear more elaborate versions of the uniform of the honor guard, but without arms or armor. A few of the more appearance-conscious even painted their nails in the Imperial colors of purple and red, decorated with minute flakes of gold and silver leaf, pressed on while the polish was wet.   
  
A knock at the door meant that they were nearing the docks. With a deep breath, they stepped out onto the deck.  
  
  
"Her Excellency, the Imperial Ambassador to Tortall, Dama Hypathia Lansherry!" the herald's voice rang out over the huge crowd gathered to gape at the sight.   
  
The gangplank was lowered and they had their first glance of each other.   
  
Radanae felt a surge of pride as Lansherry glided down the gangplank, without even a trace of stiffness to compensate for her stiff leg.   
  
There were two 'importances' on the deck, a tall, thinnish man with the slight squint of one who stays up late reading in inadequate light, and a short, stocky woman with red hair and the stance of a knight. With a shock, Radanae realized that she was looking at the King's Champion, Sir Alanna.   
  
She really expected somebody bigger. She would have come barely to Radanae's shoulder, and Radanae was smaller than average, by knightly standards.   
  
Even though she was directly behind Lansherry, she could not hear much of the polite exchange of greetings over the murmuring of the crowd, and the sound of the waves. Her only clue that the conversation was over was a prearranged signal which lead to the two secondary gangplanks being lowered with loud thumps, and the Honor Guard come jogging down, leading their destriers. With a snort, Radanae realized that they had arranged the horses according to color, with the darkest ones first, graduating to the palest creams. They sorted themselves and then mounted as one, unfurling the flags that bore Imperial arms on one side, and the arms of various provinces on the other.   
  
While the crowd gaped, and Sir Gareth and Sir Alanna hid looks of equal surprise, stablehands from the ship brought out the destriers of Radanae and her fellow aides, and the Ambassador's magnificent gold-embossed chariot with its quartet of silver-maned golden palominos.   
  
The team was harnessed, and the aides mounted with a minimum of fuss, and then they all started on their way to the capital.  
  
It was a pleasant enough ride. Radanae was between Justinia and Sir Tomas Carlyse, another military knight from her year, as they trotted through the Tortallan countryside. Ahead of them, with Sir Gareth and Sir Alanna on either side, the Ambassador made small talk and passing remarks about the scenery. The Imperials were surrounded on either side by men in blue and silver, who were apparently the King's personal bodyguard, and commanded by a huge knight who occasionally joined in the conversation with the three personages at the head of the column.   
  
Corus was a good-sized city. Not so large as Bersone, of course, thought Radanae, but certainly the size of an administrative center. The Palace was at its highest point, and they made their way through the streets, carrying themselves as befit Imperial Knights.   
  
Prince Roald, heir to the Tortallan Throne, and his sister Princess Kalasin met them in a large outdoor courtyard not too far from the entrance and made the obligatory noises of welcome, roughly equivalent to what his father's Prime Minister and Champion had on the docks but adding an invitation to a Grand Ball and Reception that evening. It included all the aides, of course, he added, but then looked doubtfully at the Honor Guard.   
  
Lansherry made a pre-arranged gesture, and they all dismounted, the aides bowing, and the Honor Guard removing their helmets and bending down on one knee before straightening up with helmets tucked under their arms.   
  
"My Honor Guard is made up of Imperial Knights of the noblest Houses in the Empire, and have ranks at least equal to those of my aides," she said politely.  
  
Roald stammered something about all the members of the Honor Guard being welcome too, and then muttered the standard remarks about being rude to leave them without rest after so long a journey. He ordered some knights and squires to show them to their quarters and then he and his sister watched as they left.  
  
Radanae caught a glimpse of Princess Kalasin as they left. For a moment, the beautiful, blue eyed, black haired young woman had stared at something as though she couldn't quite believe her eyes, before resuming what the Imperial Princess Berenice called a 'royal mask'. Radanae tried to see what had caught the attention of Yevgen's possible bride, but saw nothing untoward.   
  
Just Justinia and the other female knights in the Honor Guard handing their horses over. Nothing special.   
  
  
Kalasin wasn't sure whether she was going to scream or cry. She was sure that her footsteps could be heard all the way in the City of the Gods. Roald was barely able to keep from breaking into a run to keep up with her. She knew exactly where she was going. To her father's study, where there would be last-minute preparations for the diplomatic shuffling.   
  
She burst in without knocking. Cousin Gary and Sir Alanna were there already with Sir Myles and Great-Uncle Gareth with her father, presumably analyzing every single remark about the weather.   
  
"Why?" she choked, to no one in particular, heedless of the tears streaming down her face as the full enormity of her new realization hit her, "didn't you tell me that there are female knights in the Empire?"  
  
She'd given up her dreams when she was ten, on her father's orders. Princesses couldn't be like other noble girls, he said - or to precise, they were just like noble girls - the stupid ones who didn't take the option of being knights with both hands when it was offered. They were traded off for political gain, sent far away from home in exchange for a bit of paper and an island or two. For almost ten years she had dreamt of what might have been, watching with envy her brother's friend, Keladry of Mindelan, making her way from page to squire and knight.   
  
Knowing that she'd never be able to fight that battle.   
  
At least she had the comfort of knowing it hadn't occurred to anyone else either. They all looked dumbfounded, then all started speaking at once, the din terrible, until she raced out again and didn't stop until she was back in her room.  
  
  
One thing you could say about Tortall, Radanae thought. The wine was good. There had been the usual speeches at the banquet, and they were served by nervous-looking teenagers in red and gold uniforms, mainly boys but there were one or two girls among them. Someone whispered that they were pages and squires, knights-in-training. Radanae started at that. Cadets at the Knight's Academy would never have performed such tasks.   
  
She sidled over to where the Ambassador had managed to trap Justinia and hold her in conversation with the King, Queen, Princess Kalasin, Sir Alanna and an older, stocky man. She noted with interest that Alanna and the stocky man seemed wary of each other.   
  
"This is Dama Justinia Ferox of the House of Zevran, of my Honor Guard," Lansherry was saying as Justinia bowed. For some reason, the King looked a little relieved, as though something was just disproved that he had feared. "She's a Duxa Prima, which means that she was the best of all the knights in her year,"   
  
Justinia did another little bow.  
  
The Tortallans all did well-hidden double takes, except for Princess Kalasin, who appeared to be pretending she wasn't sulking.   
  
"How many were in your year?" that was the stocky man. He had been introduced to the Ambassador as some sort of training master.   
  
"One thousand and twenty-four....no one thousand and nineteen." Justinia recited, "we had two deaths and three serious injuries during our Trials of Knighthood."  
  
The Tortallans looked shocked, but to cover it, Sir Alanna asked the importance of knights in the Empire.  
  
"All nobles are knights, madam," Justinia replied, "we're not considered full members of our Houses until we have our shields, and children aren't usually eligible for membership into the noble ranks unless at least one parent is a knight."   
  
There was a subtext between the King, Queen, Princess and Champion that didn't look positive. Ambassador Lansherry was no fool, so she stopped that line of conversation by calling Radanae over.  
  
"This is my personal aide, Dama Radanae Gavrillian of the House of Gavrillian. She's Duxa Sapra Aude - literally 'she who dares to be wise' - she had the highest academic marks of the knights in her year - the same as Dama Justinia's."   
  
The conversation turned to the education of young knights, but there was something about the mood at the reception that was not at all pleasant.   
  
  
"Over one thousand new knights a year!" Lord Wyldon raged as soon as they were safely behind the walls of the Council chamber. No one had taken the time to change out of their Court finery, so serious was the information they'd uncovered just in light conversation.   
  
"It gets worse," Sir Gareth the Elder said gloomily. "I had a conversation with one of the older members of the Honor Guard. He mentioned very casually that military knights make up no more than one fifth of the officer corps, and that the smallest unit of command is one hundred troops. Even when we tie in the Ambassador's comment that almost one quarter of knights are confined to paperwork, that's still an officer corps alone roughly half the size of our entire Army, and, assuming they have the same chains of command we do, a standing Army of over a million troops."  
  
"And, aside from that, we don't even know how large the Empire is. No one this side of the Roof of the World does." Sir Myles concluded.   
  
"So why do they want Kalasin or Lianne to cement their hold on Sarain?" Gary was perplexed. "They could easily hold that much territory with a few reserve units."   
  
"I don't know," Jonathan said uneasily. "But I intend to find out."  
  
"Prince Yevgen is twenty years old, considered handsome, at least by the other female knights, and prefers the country," Queen Thayet announced as she opened the door and entered the Council Chamber, followed by Alanna and her husband, Baron George. "By that," she said wearily, "it probably means that he's twenty, has slept around most of the Court and the Empress needs a place as far from the capital as possible to dispose of him before he stirs up trouble for his sisters." She sat down in her chair with a sigh. "You don't know how much I wish that I'm wrong"  
  
"Where are Kalasin and Roald?" Jonathan asked.  
  
"Hovering around the female knights," Alanna almost snapped, "as you would expect. Roald's fascinated for the usual reasons - a few of them are beauties, as you would imagine, and Kalasin looks at them as though she imagines she was wearing their swords. As you would expect." She repeated through clenched teeth.   
  
"Kalasin spent the entire evening seconds away from tears." Thayet added with a sharp look at her husband. "Dama Justinia said something about the only noble girls who weren't knights were either priestesses or seriously ill and not expected to survive until adulthood."  
  
Jonathan threw up his hands in resignation. "What's done is done. We start negotiations tomorrow."   
  
  



	2. Let the games begin

Chapter 2 – Now that the introduction's over, let the fun begin  
  
The day dawned bright and clear, the sparkling rays on sunlight tinkled into the sun-  
filled conservatory of Ambassador Lansherry's main room…  
  
Radanae gave herself a brisk mental shake of the head. She was definitely under the   
weather if she was thinking in sentences like that. With a sigh, she poked at the   
breakfast of baked rolls, muffins, pastries and preserves. It looked very nice, but   
suffered from the usual effects of large-scale catering, tasting rather like sugared   
cardboard.   
  
The King and Queen had sent a very politely worded note around with breakfast   
inviting the Ambassador to meet with them that afternoon to begin discussions to the   
possible betrothal. That meant they had the morning technically 'free'. Justinia and   
some of the Honour Guard would be wandering around to judge to comparative   
standards of the pages, squires and knights. Most of the aides would be doing further   
research into the culture and customs of the Eastern lands. Radanae had at once the   
easiest and the hardest job – she was to hover around the Court making small talk and   
picking up gossip.   
  
Lansherry gave them all last minute instructions to their tasks, then retired to her   
rooms to read the sealed documents sent by the Empress.   
  
Kalasin was watching the knights at the training courts, as she did whenever she had   
the opportunity. It was a sort of self-inflicted torture, more so as increasing numbers   
of girls presented themselves as pages, much to Lord Wyldon's consternation. Many   
of the younger knights were out there today, Sir Keladry of Mindelan one of the more   
conspicuous. She felt a bump at her elbow and turned around.   
  
It was one of the female Imperial knights – the tall, muscular one with crinkled black   
hair introduced as 'Justinia', who bowed smoothly and apologised.  
  
"Don't worry about it," Kally replied as Justinia came to stand and watch.   
  
"Good morning, your Highness," Justinia remembered.   
  
"Good morning." Kally replied politely, "What do you think of Tortall?"  
  
"It is very pleasant," Justinia replied neutrally.  
  
"Is it anything like your home?"  
  
"My home? Or the Empire? The Empire has many different varied provinces, each   
with its own beauties and climate. I was born in Bersone – the capital – but my   
mother's people were from the grasslands, and my father's from a desert province –   
his people are rather like your Bazhir, I think."  
  
"It sounds a fascinating place," Kally said diplomatically, not liking the idea of   
moving either to a grassland or a desert populated with Bazhir.   
  
"It's not too different from your Eastern Lands – though it seems strange to call them   
that, when we are further east – save that we are but one realm, whereas the Eastern   
Lands are many different countries."  
  
There was a clash and a yell as Kel won her bout with another knight that Kally didn't   
recognise.  
  
"She is very good." Justinia observed.   
  
"Sir Keladry is the second female knight of Tortall." Kally said stiffly. "My father's   
Champion was the first."  
  
"I have heard much of Sir Alanna's success," Justinia almost hesitated over the title,   
used to the Imperial feminine of 'Dama'. In fact, all she knew of Alanna was   
contained in the quote that Radanae had read on the ship. However, though she was a   
military knight, she was not so ignorant of diplomacy not to be able to distort facts a   
little.   
  
"My uncle says that when it became known that she was female there was a great deal   
of discussion in Tortall, because we had not had female knights for centuries."   
Kalasin spoke as though it was a personal matter, and Justinia resolved to make   
enquiries about it. "Have there always been female knights in the Empire?"  
  
"Always." Justinia nodded, then immediately knew that she'd made a mistake, as   
Kalasin just looked more depressed.  
  
  
  
Meanwhile, Radanae was bored. A few gallants and giggling girls came to speak to   
her just for the sake of speaking to her about their completely uninteresting lives. She   
sighed as she drifted around the halls of the Palace and the gardens. They were   
beautifully kept, but nothing like the grand hanging gardens back at the Gavrillian   
House seat, nor the elegant, manicured greenery of the Imperial Palace where she had   
spent most of her life. She looked up as an older man came into view.   
  
Grey haired, hazel eyed, but there was an odd air around him that belied what   
appeared to be a carefully calculated absent-minded exterior. Radanae resolved to be   
careful. He was some sort of scholar, a History teacher at the Tortallan version of the   
Knights' Academy, presumably with all sorts of contacts to obtain books. She hadn't   
slept thorough a six-month seminar on elementary espionage without picking up a few   
clues.  
  
"Sir Myles," she stood up from the bench and bowed.   
  
"Dama Radanae," he returned her courtesy, "I hope the Queen's gardens are to your   
liking?"  
  
"Yes…they are very beautifully kept," Radanae looked around the garden for the first   
time. "I understand that you are a teacher of history."  
  
He laughed, "I try to introduce an interest in history in my students, it is true, but   
whether I teach them or not is a different matter entirely!"   
  
Radanae smiled politely. "I was always very fond of history when I was at the   
Academy," she lied, "but we did not have very many resources on recent Tortallan   
history. I wonder if you might direct me to a place where I can find more   
information?" she asked. That was a lie too. The Empress had up-to-the-week   
intelligence on nearly every realm on the planet.   
  
He looked at her carefully, then said brightly, "I was just going to the library just now   
myself. If you like, I can guide you there."  
  
Radanae nodded and walked beside him back into the Palace.   
  
It was quiet in the corridors, so Sir Myles provided dry, rather unimportant and   
inoffensive information on Tortall, its formation, early kings, and even a few   
references to the recent Immortals war.  
  
In return, Radanae exchanged equally unimportant, inoffensive information on the   
Empire – largely the sort of thing any half-decent spy could gather just by sitting in   
the marketplace. Sir Myles nodded very subtly as though she was confirming what he   
already knew.   
  
The Royal Library was quite large – and certainly better stocked that Radanae had   
expected. Sir Myles showed her the section on Tortallan history, and then made more   
small talk as he recommended the most concise volumes.  
  
  
  
The King, Queen, Sir Myles and various miscellaneous councillors were clustered   
around a table, trying to thrash out proposals before the scheduled preliminary   
meetings with the Ambassador. It was rather difficult as they had only a sketchy idea   
of what the Imperials would ask for or offer.   
  
"A few of them were on the practice courts comparing fighting styles." Raoul   
sounded almost depressed. "Prince Roald, Keladry of Mindelan, Nealan of   
Queensgrove, and a few of our other young knights managed very respectable   
showings…but for the others…"  
  
He was interrupted by the entry of a definitely melancholic Lord Wyldon. Everyone   
understood.   
  
"Well," Myles said philosophically, "it stands to reason that they would send their   
best in order to create the right impression – which I gather it does. Who knows that if   
we gathered thirty of our best we might not have the same results – except many of   
ours are not at Court, so perhaps we should not jump too hastily to conclusions."  
  
Lord Wyldon didn't look very comforted. Raoul, who had seen some of the carnage   
inflicted on his charges, looked at him sympathetically. Tortall's knights had a solid   
reputation in the Eastern lands, and had been trounced by a completely new power.   
And with Sarain providing them with a foothold in the Eastern Lands, who knew what   
might happen? As Sir Myles had regretfully told them, even he had no idea how large   
the Empire was, though his chat with the Ambassador's aide had been mildly   
informative.   
  
Alanna, who had been stewing over the issue of the large number of female Imperial   
knights for a while, looked slightly satisfied. A third of the Honour Guard, and   
virtually all the aides, she had learned, were female knights, as was the Ambassador   
herself.   
  
"Back to this question," she said as though it left a sour taste in her mouth. She was   
grateful that she had never had to submit to that great indignity of a noblewoman,   
marriage arranged for profit and politics, and more than a little annoyed that so many   
were. Not the least that her old friend was doing the same for his daughters. "I take it   
that it will be Kalasin?"  
  
Queen Thayet gave a very regretful sigh. "Lianne is far too young, and besides,   
Kalasin is closer in age to this…boy."  
  
"Have you spoken to her?" Gary asked urgently.  
  
"I spoke to both of them as soon as the letter came," she snapped, but not sharply. "I   
spoke to Kalasin again last night – after she finished moping and writing bad poetry   
about how she couldn't be a knight because of marriage considerations and now her   
prospective groom is from a realm full of female knights."   
  
Jon looked besieged. Since knighthood for women was not generally acceptable   
outside Tortall (and, to tell the truth, even nearly twenty years after Alanna won her   
shield it still wasn't that acceptable in Tortall), it would have been a serious liability   
for his daughters in the marriage/alliance market. There seemed to be a surfeit of   
eligible princesses in this generation. It was all very well when it came to Roald, Liam   
or Jasson, but it meant that Kalasin and Lianne were only two in a vast number of   
candidates for eligible royals and nobles.   
  
The one match that seemed to be even more advantageous that the one Jon had   
planned for Kalasin with Emperor Kaddar of Cathak - (Kaddar had fallen madly in   
love with some noblewoman he had known from his University days and married her   
in a rather rushed ceremony. She was already expecting a child) – was from an   
Empire that made his original argument seem completely pointless. From a few   
subtle, never expressed points in the previous evening's conversation, the   
Ambassador was actually a little disappointed that Kalasin wasn't a knight! He only   
hoped that Kally hadn't also picked up the undertone.   
  
The sound of bells ringing the hour barely preceded the note from the Imperial   
Ambassador seeking entrance.   
  
The began with the usual small talk – thanks for their hospitality, admiration for the   
gifts and accommodations – before they got down to the serious business. Even then,   
knowing the highly emotional situation of such negotiations (arranged marriages were   
very uncommon in the Empire, but they did occur, and usually between younger   
members of the Imperial family and scions of recently-conquered provinces – like this   
one), Lansherry preceded it with talk of trade agreements and displaced peoples.   
Imperial policy attempted to maintain largely open borders, with free movement   
between provinces and in and out of the Empire. It meant that whenever they -   
Lansherry used the word 'absorbed' and the Tortallans tacitly accepted it – more   
territory, there was usually an exodus of refugees. Just as usually, it soured relations   
with any neighbours of the recently absorbed territory, who suddenly found that they   
had thousands to feed, house, clothe, provide Healers for, and to prevent from rioting.   
  
Radanae, taking notes on the meeting, remembered one time internal conflict had sent   
thousands streaming into an outlying province where her mother had been appointed   
the military governor. Knight-Governor Dama Teleri Gavrillian had written about her   
observations to her only daughter. When the first of the pitiful crowd had arrived,   
with nothing more than the clothes on their backs, the people of the province had been   
extraordinarily generous, opening hearts, homes and purses as though they were   
limitless for those who had fled their homeland. Later, however, when the tide of   
human misery had increased, and there was a corresponding strain on the food   
supplies and land in the border regions of the province, not to mention countless   
cultural and religious misunderstandings, the Imperial citizens gradually became   
resentful of their guests. Eventually, riots and open hostility broke out between the   
citizens and the refugees, and Gavrillian had been forced to send for reinforcements to   
resettle the refugees elsewhere.   
  
According to the latest intelligence, they did not appear to be having similar problems   
in Sarain. Perhaps after the decades of erratic, despotic rule, and the more stable, but   
still despotic rule of the jian Wilimas, the people of Sarain felt that any new rulers   
couldn't possibly be worse.   
  
There was a significant pause in the conversation just after they finished something   
extremely boring about opening up a secure overland trade route between the Empire   
and Tortall, levels of tariffs, and responsibility for guarding against bandits. Radanae   
blinked, noticing that she had covered almost an entire stack of fine cloth-paper with   
her aggressively neat, cursive hand.   
  
"Your Majesties, might I first complement you on the intelligence and beauty of your   
daughters," Lansherry was new to marriage negotiations, but one never could have   
guessed. "Her Imperial Majesty is honoured that you would consider her son as   
worthy of their attention."  
  
"We are likewise honoured that her Majesty would regard us with such favour,"   
Thayet answered. "Might we enquire as to the reasons for such consideration?"  
  
"The Empire is desirous of close alliances with all her neighbours, especially one so   
well-regarded and respected as the Kingdom of Tortall." Lansherry was equally   
polite. "Tortall is the leader among the Eastern Lands, with strong alliances with the   
Yamani Empire and the Empire of Cathak. Galla, Tusaine and Maren pale in   
comparison to Tortall, and one must admit, that even if Tyra were able to compare to   
Tortall, they have no suitable candidates. Likewise, the eligible candidates from   
Scanra change every week, and seem to be uncomfortably prone to rearrangement."  
  
Radanae, who had swiped and read the sealed intelligence papers while the   
Ambassador was changing into her fancy clothes knew the real reasons. There were   
already links with Cathak through a few regional inter-marriages and strong trade   
routes far to the south (which they were fairly sure Cathak had not divulged to their   
Eastern allies. The Empire certainly wasn't going to), and with only limited numbers   
of Imperial scions, they had to be apportioned carefully. Galla, Tusaine and Maren   
had no candidates that wouldn't sent Yevgen screaming onto the steppes, renouncing   
his knighthood and nobility and spending the rest of his life as a hermit. The Empress   
was pragmatic to a fault, but she wasn't stupid. The Yamani and Copper isles were   
really too far away to be worth an alliance for at least another generation. Eligible   
Scanran noblewomen seemed extremely vulnerable to murder.   
  
Their goal was the peaceful new province of Sarain. The last surviving members of   
the old jian Wilima family were the Queen Consort and the princes and princesses of   
Tortall – possibly the only symbols that might bind a fractured country together.   
While they had suffered very few casualties in actually conquering Sarain, they'd had   
an absolute devil of a time trying to move troops through the mountains that separated   
the Empire from the Eastern lands. It wasn't going to be something they wanted to   
repeat if Sarain ever became unworkable.   
  
The Empress was willing to offer joint sovereignty of Sarain between her son and   
whichever Tortallan princess was available (the sketchy portraits the first spies had   
returned had made her prefer Kalasin, but mainly because she was closer to Yevgen's   
age), and to allow them to beget a new Sarain dynasty with whatever name the   
princess chose. The Imperial, and most high noble Houses (like Radanae's) were   
matriarchal, but they'd been in Tortall long enough to realise that it wasn't the case   
there. Lansherry was going to offer the name as a last minute sweetener, though it had   
been assumed by the Imperial councillors as a done deal. Sarain would be an   
autonomous kingdom within the Empire, which would be largely independent, save   
that it would pay a portion of its taxes to the Imperial treasury, send children of noble   
Houses who wished to be knights to Bersone for schooling (which meant everyone   
who wanted to stay a noble), and allow Imperial trade through to the Eastern Lands   
without additional duties and tariffs. In return, the Empire would offer the support of   
its military in times of need. The Empire was also willing to sign a communication of   
understanding with Tortall, and a declaration of friendship. Lansherry stopped short   
of offering full alliance, knowing that it was going to be fairly useless considering the   
distances involved.   
  
Tortall wished to know the Empire's intentions in the Eastern lands, the role of their   
princess in Sarain (Queen, or whatever else she wants to call herself, Lansherry had   
reacted in a shocked manner), and how advisers to the Crown would be chosen   
(however the rulers wanted), and the possibilities of future exchange of permanent   
Ambassadors.   
  
There was more waffling after that, and then the meeting finished so that everyone   
could prepare for a party that night.  
  
  
"It is very generous," Sir Myles looked at the neat proposal that had been written up   
by the Ambassador's aide during the meeting. "The first offer alone is far better than   
any other from anyone but possibly Cathak, and even I don't think Cathak would have   
considered full joint rule of what is essentially an independent country. It makes me   
wonder what they think we'll ask in return." He shook his head in an irritated manner.   
"I only wish we knew more about them so we know what they can offer. Your   
Majesty?" he bowed slightly to the Queen.  
  
Thayet was reading the points that concerned the governance of Sarain. It was a little   
strange, seeing so many of the things that her father had fiercely opposed and fought   
against with steel and blood, written in neat black ink as they were truths to be held   
self-evident. "I would say that it was certainly a good proposal for Sarain, but I'm not   
sure whether it's a good proposal for my daughter. Let's not rush to any hasty   
decisions. We have no idea why this boy is being shunted off so far beyond the   
borders of his home."   
  
"I have to agree." Alanna put in, "it seems too perfect. Trade routes. Generous   
treaties. Exchange of scholars. All in exchange for one young woman, as lovely as she   
is, Jon, Thayet," she qualified, "I think there's something that they're not telling us   
about the Empire. Something that we haven't even thought of."  
  
  
  
"Kalasin." Justinia said firmly as they all returned to the suite. "Definitely Kalasin."  
  
Radanae raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure?"  
  
"Of course I'm sure. I may not have it, but it's leaking out of her like you wouldn't   
believe. I can literally see it sometimes. Lianne has a little, but nowhere near as   
much."   
  
They both turned to Ambassador Lansherry. "It does run in the Conte line," she said   
mildly. "I suppose, failing Kalasin or Lianne, the noble families of Naxen or   
Queensgrove, even the Champion's daughter might do. I agree, of course, Princess   
Kalasin is our first choice. Any dissenters?"  
  
Everyone shook their heads, then went off to change. Radanae and Justinia had the   
task of making sure that Princess Kalasin as a person would be suited to Yevgen. The   
main point of the exercise, even more than that of Sarain, would depend on it.   
  
The Gift was dying out in the Empire. Once present in nearly all the aristocratic   
Houses, now it appeared very irregularly, and only seldom in sufficient strength to be   
useful (Radanae, who was typical of the present generation, could barely light a fire   
without fainting). No one knew why, though it was being replaced by a combination   
of wild magic and other forms of 'talents'. The Gift was seen as another useful talent,   
and it had been certainly useful against Immortals. The few Imperial aristocratic   
Houses that still reliably produced Gifted individuals were hovering right on the very   
edge of in-breeding in order to maintain it.   
  
There was a vital need for new blood. Of all the Royal families in the Eastern lands,   
though most had a trickle or two, only the Contes of Tortall were swimming in the   
Gift. King Jonathan was said to be a supremely powerful mage, able to sense every   
rock in his realm through magic and an awesome aritifact that Sir Alanna had found   
somewhere. All his children had reportedly inherited the Gift, though Queen Thayet   
showed no signs of possessing it. Radanae dismissed the awesome artifact theory, but   
accepted that the Gift could do many strange things.   
  
While the proposal included that the throne, crown, or otherwise authority of rulership   
of Sarain would be passed down to Kalasin's children, it also stated that they were all   
to be trained at the Knights' Academy in Bersone. It wasn't difficult to miss that their   
primary duty would be to the Empire.   
  
In the future, it was hoped that more inter-marriages between Imperial nobles and   
those of the Eastern Lands would produce more Gifted knights, but it was early days   
yet. Better to try and organise this one match before trying for more.   
  
  
"Kally?" Thayet knocked softly on the door to her daughter's room. Kalasin was   
sitting on the window ledge, reading. She looked up. "Yes?"  
  
"Can I come in?"  
  
Kally made no reply, but slid off to stand by the window. "Have you finished your   
meeting with the Imperial Ambassador?" she asked coolly, guessing the reason for the   
maternal visit.   
  
"The first one, yes. I wanted to talk to you about it."  
  
"So it's me? You're sending me to the ends of the earth to marry someone I hadn't   
even heard of a few weeks ago?"  
  
"We haven't got to that stage yet." Thayet soothed, though she knew very well that   
they probably had, only not explicitly. "These were the proposals put forward by   
Ambassador Lansherry."  
  
Kalasin took the sheet and read it. Halfway through, a single tear trickled unnoticed   
down her cheek. She wiped her eyes, "Point 18 (b) All eligible children of the   
marriage shall be educated at the Knights' Academy in Bersone with the view of   
gaining Imperial Knighthood. Don't you think it's hilarious?" she asked cynically,   
"the one thing I've ever wanted, the one thing father's ever denied me, is the one   
thing that, if I had it, would make me perfect for the one match that looks better than   
Kaddar. I wonder how he's trying to wrap his brain around that?"  
  
"He was being unnecessarily cautious then," Thayet agreed, recalling the almighty   
row she'd had with Jon after he'd made the decision while she was away.   
"Remember, though, that it was in the middle of a very sensitive time and at any time   
we might have had to…"  
  
"Sell Lianne or me to the highest bidder? Don't worry, Father explained it to me. For   
the good of Tortall, he said." She sighed. "I don't think I'd be quite so annoyed if I   
knew that I had given it all up for the good of Tortall. But to find out, after all these   
years of noble self-sacrifice, that it really wasn't necessary, isn't very pleasant. Oh   
yes," she said with a twist to her mouth. "I'll do my duty," she said it as though it left   
a very unpleasant taste. "That's always the lot of a princess, isn't it. I really don't   
know why girls dream of it."  
  
"I suppose a shepherdess would look at the clothes, the Palace, and the food and   
decide that marriage is a decent enough swap. On the other hand, princesses look at   
the freedom and the fresh air, and decide that the weather, the scanty food and the   
sheep are a fair trade. I remember when I first came to Tortall – the freedom to do   
whatever I liked, for the first time in my life."  
  
"Then you met father."  
  
"Then I met your father."  
  
"And everything changed back again."  
  
"No. Everything changed forward. If you are genuinely set against this marriage, we   
shan't force you into it. We haven't got the details, and, frankly, we haven't an idea   
what the Imperials want out of it except you or Lianne."  
  
"It worries you."  
  
"It worries all of us."  
  
"Don't bother about it," Kalasin folded up the bit of paper and returned it to her   
mother, "it sounds a damn sight better than Cathak, Scanra, Galla or Maren."  



	3. Fun and Games

Hi – just managed to get a hold of Squire, so I've got some of that in. Err…sorry, The   
Stump's still Training Master…have no idea what Padraig haMinch is like, so don't want   
to pre-judge. Relieved, a bit, that Joren died as I had no idea how to write him without   
upgrading the rating. I hope a d*** or two a chapter still qualifies for PG. Thanks for all   
the encouragement, everyone!  
  
Chapter 3 – Fun and Games  
  
Dama Ryane, who was a talented amateur artist, had sketched a selection of portraits of   
Princess Kalasin to send back to Bersone. Granted, they had all been done in the best   
possible light, but everyone agreed that the princess was a beauty, and Ryane had   
confessed that she would have been hard pressed to draw her in an unflattering manner.   
With any luck, the portraits and the passage of time might make Yevgen almost   
reasonable about the prospect.   
  
It was not that Prince Yevgen was unpleasant, or spoilt. No one could survive twelve   
years at the Academy, and their Trials of Knighthood and be at all precious or squeamish,   
or lack a sense of humour. Radanae was good friends with him and his sisters. He was,   
however, an incurable romantic, and the sort of idealist who didn't quite believe in the   
harshness of the real world. Part of that was due to being a prince, of course, and rather   
more sheltered than his peers. Complications from some injuries suffered at the Trials   
(though he was fully healed now) had prevented him from gaining the military   
experience that had solved that problem in his sisters.   
  
Dressed in their formal gear for an evening with the Court, they prepared to deliver their   
first report back to the Empress. Once, this would have been achieved by a mage attached   
to the delegation, but the Gift was rarely strong enough now. To compensate, Imperial   
engineers had designed a series of devices to take the place of full mages, most of which   
required only the slightest nudge of Gift in order to activate. However, this was only a   
temporary solution, as no one could tell if or when the number of Gifted Imperials would   
decrease further. The Gifted one who needed to activate it would have an enormous   
headache afterwards, but it couldn't be helped. One of the Honour Guard picked the short   
straw, and held the small square of metal with a grimace.   
  
There was a blurring of the air between the Ambassador and Sir Deryn, and a swirl of   
purple fog, which resolved into the Empress Vanaria, apparently sitting at a desk and   
looking directly at them.   
  
The standard greetings out of the way, Lansherry delivered her initial impressions of   
Tortall.  
  
"A fairly competent executive. There appears to be the usual power struggle between   
conservatives and progressives, with the twist that the king, queen and their close friends   
happen to be the progressives. They appear to have a powerful Mage class, and a small,   
but adequate contingent of knights."  
  
"How many knights?" Vanaria had a clear, no-nonsense contralto voice.   
  
"Few at Court. From observations at their Academy, I would say no more than twenty a   
year. The contingent of formally trained officers and elite guards seem quite small too."   
  
The small head-and-shoulders image nodded with definite satisfaction. "Good. We will   
still have superiority of numbers even if there is a wide alliance between all the lands   
west of the Roof. Standard of training?"  
  
"Reasonable. Certainly better than their neighbours. They have a few up to Honour   
Guard standard. The country will be stable for the foreseeable future. The heir appears to   
be about Yevgen's age, a competent, if dull sort. There are four other potential heirs after   
him, including the two princesses."  
  
"Have you had an opportunity to observe either of them yet?"  
  
"Princess Kalasin is present at court, while Lianne is rarely seen at social functions due to   
her age. Princess Kalasin seems an intelligent, pleasant young woman, and has a great   
deal of the Gift. The Tortallans seem to be agreeable to the initial proposals."  
  
Raised eyebrows. "That's good. Very good. If they're difficult about it, offer to throw in   
preferential trade status, Naval co-operation in the Inland Sea, and 'gifts to show our   
gratitude for their hospitality'. I was thinking some Gavrillian destrier geldings. Dama   
Radanae," the Empress said, mock-sternly (she had known Radanae since before her   
naming. Radanae's mother had given birth prematurely while at Court), turning to her   
"Might I remind you that your parents are ridiculously stiff-necked in their insistence not   
to sell breeding stock. I hardly think that the Gavrillian reputation is going to be ruined   
by sending a few mares and a stallion or two to the other end of the world." She smiled,   
to show that she was joking. Radanae bowed, understanding the joke.  
  
Radanae's parents, like the other generations of Gavrillians before them, were famous for   
the quality of their destriers. Their herds were small, but indisputably the best in the   
Empire. No one could match them, largely as they never sold their best stock, keeping   
them for breeding, and sold only geldings, though they would occasionally give a fine   
mare as a gift. A Gavrillian stallion was never allowed out of Gavrillian hands.   
  
"We're sending portraits of Princess Kalasin and other bulky non-sensitive material back   
overland and by sea. We'll transmit the other documents the usual way." Vanaria nodded   
in agreement. The 'other way' was by device-enhanced magic, which left the Gifted one   
who triggered it comatose for several hours.   
  
Sir Deryn was starting to make involuntary sounds of pain, which meant that it was time   
to cut off the communication. The Empress abruptly vanished, and Deryn dropped the   
device and collapsed on the table. Justinia and a few others carried him to his bed to sleep   
it off.   
  
  
  
The party was magnificent. It was technically hosted by the heir, Prince Roald, and his   
betrothed, Princess Shinkokami of the Yamani Empire (the actual title, Radanae knew,   
was a lot more complicated, but she simply couldn't be bothered recalling the whole   
thing), but the guest list was the same as it had been the previous evening. Roald was   
quiet and polite, and so was Shinkokami. Their marriage had been arranged by their   
elders, and Radanae couldn't help but thing how much easier things would have been if   
Yevgen was as co-operative as Prince Roald appeared to be.   
  
She was fairly certain Prince Roald hadn't needed armed guards to make sure he didn't   
do anything romantic like break out of his room and become a travelling minstrel rather   
than submit to an arranged marriage. Yevgen couldn't sing anywhere near as well as he   
thought he could, anyway.   
  
She picked up a glass of fruit juice from a nervous squire who stared at her, then   
wandered around. Justinia was deep in conversation with Sir Alanna looking rather   
comical as she towered above the diminutive King's Champion. Sir Basiano, the   
mountain warfare specialist, was comparing tactics with a woman introduced as the   
Commander of Queen Thayet's pet unit. Ambassador Lansherry was explaining the role   
of the Senate in the Empire (a technically elected body that supposedly represented the   
people, but in reality the land requirements for a Senator meant that it was dominated by   
knights with a sprinkling of wealthy merchants. Radanae's father was one such knight-  
Senator) to Sir Gareth and an elderly man he bore a striking resemblance to. Duke Gareth   
of Naxen, then, Radanae decided, the King's uncle and the Prime Minister's father – a   
former Prime Minister himself.   
  
She spotted Princess Kalasin alone outside, looking thoughtful, so she wandered out to   
the balcony. Thinking fast, she breathed a deep sigh as soon as she exited, as though she   
didn't know that anyone was outside, then wandered to the opposite end of the balcony,   
but made sure she was well within the Princess's line of sight.   
  
She walked up to the walls and looked up at the moon, thinking it extraordinary that even   
so far from home it still looked exactly the same, even though the constellations of stars   
looked very odd. She heard a sound beside her, and pretended to be shocked when she   
whirled around to see Kalasin.  
  
"Your Highness!" she bowed, "Forgive me, I did not think that there was anybody else   
out here."  
  
"Dama Radanae," Kalasin nodded, "I dislike springtime functions at Court, and I often   
need some fresh air and space to think,"  
  
Radanae made other noises about not being particularly sociable either, but tilted her   
head and put on an interested expression so that Kalasin would go on.   
  
"Springtime is when all the new knights go out on their assignments," she explained,   
"and they spend their last days at Court at the parties. This year…this year is the first   
time that I'm here and I can look at them and think that I could have been among them.   
This would have been my second year as a knight, if I had been allowed to train. Did they   
tell you that? When I was a little girl, there was nothing I wanted more than anything in   
the world than to be a knight. It was the only thing I had ever asked of my father. It's also   
the only thing he's ever denied me." Kalasin stopped to sip from a delicate crystal   
wineglass. Radanae wondered how many she'd had. Rislyn, Berenice or even Yevgen   
would never be so direct if they were sober. "He said that it would damage my prospects   
for an alliance. Nobles don't want to marry female knights, he said. He had planned for   
Kaddar of Cathak, as I think you already know. It was common knowledge until Kaddar   
came to his senses. Ironic, don't you think?"  
  
A few odd little notes finally made sense, especially the undercurrent of the previous   
evening. Radanae had also found the perfect last argument to sway Kalasin in favour of   
the match, even if her parents were still reserved on the issue. But first, Kalasin had to be   
comforted.   
  
"Life always stacks the cards, as my people say," Radanae began, "it punishes you for   
making plans be unravelling them at the first opportunity." She shrugged.   
  
"Tell, me," Kalasin's voice was bitter, "will the fact that I'm not a knight damage my   
chances with his Imperial Highness?"  
  
Radanae wasn't going to tell her that knighthood was a non-issue because Yevgen didn't   
want to marry anyone, whether they be a goddess or a street-child.   
  
"No," she demurred, "While women of noble birth who aren't knights are the exception   
rather than the rule, it's true, there are always those exceptions, and they've always been   
very much respected. Healers, priestesses, barristers. There are not so many of them now   
as there once were, it's true, and my friend Dama Justinia would like to think there aren't   
any at all."  
  
Kalasin looked puzzled. Radanae knew then that Justinia had been exaggerating again, or   
simply got carried away with baiting the training master or some other Eastern   
conservative. She was like that.  
  
"Justinia's mother isn't a knight – she's a coroner with the Bersone murder courts – that's   
why Justinia can't claim membership of the House of Ferox, which is much higher   
ranked than the House of Zevran – that's her father's House." The little snippet of   
personal information made Kalasin open up a little.   
  
Kalasin chuckled, and relaxed a little. "I suppose, no matter who we are, we're never   
quite satisfied with it."  
  
  
  
  
  
"Very good." Lansherry said the next day, during a tournament as Radanae told her of the   
conversation with Kalasin the previous evening. "Honorary knighthoods are certainly not   
without precedent, especially in alliance-marriages. We'll add it to the possible additional   
sweeteners."  
  
They sat in the stands watching Imperial and Eastern knights face each other with lance   
and occasionally sword. The overall standard of the Imperials was better, despite the   
weeks at sea with little opportunity to practice, but that was to be expected. Lansherry   
had been scrupulous in not mentioning it, but each of the Honour Guard and even the   
aides were in the top tenth of Imperial knights. While only the top ten knights had formal   
ranked honorifics like Justinia, everyone in the top two hundred knew their rank, and   
everybody else below that had a fairly good idea anyway. Radanae, who had placed   
ninety-eighth in her trials, was the lowest ranked of the lot. There were a few carefully   
calculated losses, of course, to salve Eastern pride. Quick research had come up with   
which Eastern knights to ride their lower ranked members against. Sir Alanna, of course,   
and then Sir Raoul, the enormous commander of the King's personal bodyguard, Lady   
Keladry, a new female knight, regarded as one of the most technically accomplished   
young warriors in Tortall, Lord Wyldon the Training Master (who was said to have the   
best technique in the Eastern lands. Radanae was inclined to agree), and a few others.  
  
All the Honour Guard and about half the aides were competing – thirty five Imperials in   
all. Radanae and another three women remained with the Ambassador. It was safer.   
Radanae herself hadn't had more than a few half-hearted jousts with real opponents in the   
two years since she'd been knighted. She'd trained as a light cavalry officer and scout (a   
polite name for a field spy) before Lansherry had burst into the North-Western barracks   
and hauled her off as her new Ambassadorial Secretary without so much as a by-your-  
leave.   
  
They used similar rules in the Eastern Lands, three passes, first to knock someone off   
their horse, or whomever was decided by the judges. There were more outright wins than   
there would have been in an Imperial tournament. It was not a criticism, but Radanae   
wondered if they might change if they used an Imperial training technique of smearing   
the training yard with dung, skunk oil, and other unpleasantly pungent substances. One   
was much less likely to fall off when one knew what one would be landing in.   
  
They'd sent a few of the sneakier aides in to suggest pairings and shuffle the schedules   
around. They had a fairly good idea of the various political power struggles at the   
Tortallan Court (they were nowhere near as complex at those at the Imperial Court,   
Radanae was vastly relieved to know) and knew which knights they needed to defeat or   
be defeated by in order to maximise their advantage at the Tortallan Court.   
  
Justinia, and several of the top-ranking female knights faced the highly conservative   
factions of the court, being reliably certain of a win. The male knights, in the main,   
jousted the moderates and progressives, winning about three out of four, and were picked   
to lose against Sir Alanna, Lord Wyldon and other highly famed Eastern knights. The   
lower ranked female knights lost against Sir Raoul and Lady Keladry, and won against   
the more ordinary unaligned knights.   
  
Everything went approximately according to plan. There were a few unexpected losses,   
though luckily it was not to Justinia or her group, and a completely unexpected win by   
Sir Tomas against a very competent Sir Nealan of Queensgrove. Dama Ryane had to be   
ordered to fall from her horse against a squire named Owen of Jesslaw, when he proved   
to be better than expected, and Ryane was starting to look like a suspiciously good jouster   
for a desk knight (she'd actually ranked thirtieth in the year above Radanae's. Were it not   
for her eye for detail and talent for blending perfectly into shadows, she would have been   
stuck as a junior garrison commander or cartographer on some distant border posting).   
  
The jousting was held in the afternoon. That evening would bring the first formal   
showing of Imperial martial arts, and comparisons with Eastern techniques. Radanae   
watched with interest Shang and Yamani fighters, both of whom demonstrated techniques   
that were at once similar and vastly different to Imperial unarmed fighting. A few knights   
and squires were eager to show off their fencing skills and Keladry of Mindelan   
performed an intricate, dangerous dance with what appeared to be a light halberd.   
Radanae, whose interest in weaponry, save her beloved rapier, had never quite managed   
to reach appropriate knightly levels, described it as a 'stick with a knife stuck on the end'.   
  
Justinia brought the Court to a standstill with a demonstration of the paired daggers, the   
traditional duelling weapons of a female knight, though whether it was because of her   
undoubted skill, or the way she looked in the close-moulded ceremonial armour was   
anyone's guess. She was followed by other members of the Honour Guard, though the   
aides sat in the audience. Lansherry was looking at the reaction of the Tortallan Court and   
the rest of the Ambassador's with great satisfaction. From the co-respondence from other   
Ambassadors, other Honour Guards and delegations were having the same effect.   
  
While the Empire had a formidable armed force, they had found out long ago that   
diplomacy and intimidation was far more economical in preventing their neighbours from   
invading.   
  
  
  
"I still don't understand what they could possibly want," Sir Myles was sounding more   
worried the longer the Imperials were at Court. I've had more information from my   
agents. Imperial harvests are in surplus. There's no pressing political concerns because   
after five hundred years of power, the Delmaran – yes, I finally found out the name of the   
Imperial House - Empresses have learned that the trick to another five hundred years is to   
change with the times, and to listen when people have concerns." He paused. "They seem   
to exemplify the policy that the people will be happy so long as they have bread to eat,   
shelter over their heads, entertainments to bet on, and the freedom to wander into a pub,   
get roaring drunk, and say what they like. The only motive I can see is the one professed,   
a desire to have a stable Sarain. But, begging your Majesty's pardon," here he bowed to   
Thayet, "they needn't give a damn about Sarain. If trouble did creep over the border they   
have both mountains and men to defend themselves. There's no gossip about Prince   
Yevgen," he added.   
  
The King and Queen breathed sighs of relief.   
  
"He's seen as a respectable young man, a decent fighter, a good commander, and, were it   
not for his two elder sisters, possibly a decent Emperor. He hasn't much of a chance of   
that, I have to add. Two elder sisters, both renowned fighters and commanders, and   
several female cousins with good claims who comprehensively out-qualify him. But, I   
digress. No scandalous tales. No indiscreet dalliances. Not even the slightest hint that he   
would want to displace Rislyn and Berenice – those are his sisters, by the way – Berenice   
is his twin, and Rislyn is three or four years older. Yet, the Empire sends one of its most   
respected stateswomen halfway across the world with a hand-picked escort to negotiate a   
marriage for the young man with a princess whose dowry…is fairly insignificant, as far   
as the Empress is concerned. Sorry Jon." He added, knowing that Kalasin's dowry was   
the largest in the Eastern Lands. "Kalasin's only advantages, compared to say, a marriage   
with one of the Imperial noble Houses – like Ferox, Carloni or Gavrillian, all of whom   
have candidates his age, would be her Tortallan and Saren bloodlines. That's hardly   
worth a full-scale delegation, preferential trade status, naval co-operation, sharing of   
knowledge, guarded trade routes and low tariffs. There is something missing, and I don't   
know what!"  
  
It was the first time any of them had seen Myles upset.   
  
Owen of Jesslaw, Lord Wyldon's squire, was serving them refreshments. He looked   
nervous. "If I may, speak, my lords, ladies," he coughed. After a few years as Wyldon's   
squire, he had managed to keep his foot out of his mouth long enough to utter a few   
sentences.   
  
They nodded.  
  
"There was something funny going on at the tournament this afternoon. I would swear   
that the gi…I mean, the lady knight I was jousting against let me win. We met really hard   
the first two times, and both lances broke – I could barely stay in the saddle, but one of   
the others came and spoke to her before the third and then…my aim was off, I know,   
sir…I barely touched her shield, and she came right off. Then I had a look tonight when   
everyone was doing all the fancy stuff. The really good female knights – this afternoon,   
they were the ones who kept dragging Groten, Stone Mountain, Fenrigh, Tirrsmont – that   
lot through the mud. It was as though they knew they couldn't lose. The male   
knights…well, they were all right, but I saw the ones who lost to Sir Alanna and my lord   
a day ago on the practice courts. They were good, but they weren't anywhere near the   
best. They were the ones who probably wouldn't win, even by luck. Same with the   
female knights who lost to Sir Raoul and Lady Keladry. They weren't anywhere near as   
good as the ones who were pitched against the conservatives."  
  
The adults stared at him, then thought. Raoul scribbled on a piece of paper in front of   
him. Alanna peeked – it was wins, losses, who had lost to whom, and how.   
  
"You're right, Owen, thank you," the Knight-Commander said. "There were fourteen   
female knights, twenty-one male of the Imperial contingent in the jousting. The other   
five, including the Ambassador, watched. This gets interesting. The conservatives that   
Owen mentioned – all were dumped on their rumps on the first pass by only five of those   
female knights – coincidentally enough, three of them have been introduced with titles   
like Duxa Prima, Duxa Quinta, and Duxa Septa. The male knights, though good overall,   
had mixed results, pretty much what I would expect from a trained, hand-picked force   
who hadn't been able to train for several weeks at sea. The remaining female knights had   
only a pass or two each, and won on judgement, or were unhorsed by the very good   
progressive knights. That's not chance."  
  
"Yet another mystery," Myles sounded very disgusted. "And I want their training school   
if they can work out the alignments in the Court in a few days."  
  
"So there are spies there?"  
  
Myles looked at Gary as though he was being deliberately thick. "I would say that   
they've all had some sort of training in espionage. All the aides, probably, will have had   
further training, the Ambassador herself, certainly, and with our luck a good chunk of the   
Honour Guard will also have been trained as assassins."   
  
"Well, so it's not land they really need, nor money, nor connections," Baron George   
crossed out a few words he'd scrawled. "All they really want is one of the girls, and   
they're prepared to pay a lot for her. They're even willing to bolster your agenda in Court   
for her. So what does Kally have than no other Saren noblewoman has?"   
  
"Thayet for a mother," Alanna snapped, "Jon for a fa….wait a minute. Numair, has there   
been any magic in the Envoys' wing in the last day or so?"  
  
A nod. "Yes. It was a standard communication-spell, though it was unfamiliar to me, so   
by the time I managed to probe it a little they'd cut off. There was nothing untoward in it,   
no sign of stealth-shielding."  
  
Alanna sat back into her chair. "Just a thought," she held up her hand, "I had thought that   
since it's common knowledge that all of them have the Gift, they may simply want useful   
Imperial cousins with it. But since they have magic of their own, it doesn't seem a good   
reason. So we're back to a stable Sarain. Why?"   
  
"Trade, possibly," Gary pondered, "but we've done without it for so long. If what Sir   
Myles says about the size of the Empire is true, and if their noble classes can produce   
fifty times the number of knights we can…oh, all right, twenty-five," he said after Alanna   
coughed, "since they call on more female knights, they wouldn't bother. Transport costs   
would simply render the exercise uneconomical."  
  
"And I don't think conquest is their goal," Myles chipped in. "They seem to prefer   
expanding further east, south, and north, but very rarely west unless an opportunity like   
Sarain presents itself. The Roof Of The World, apparently, is a very major obstacle to   
their fighting style."  
  
"Which is?"  
  
"Remarkably like ours, as a matter of fact. Dominated by knightly heavy cavalry, with   
significant support from mounted archers and light cavalry. They appear to use infantry   
only after the cavalry and artillery have forced significant holes in their opponents   
defences. This, I must say, is from famous military treatises freely available in their   
bookstores, so things may have altered slightly since then. However, seeing the display   
this afternoon, I would say that knightly heavy cavalry remains a part of their structure."  
  
Jon shook his head. "There don't appear to be any motivations apart from the obvious,   
which makes me uneasy. It's a very good offer," he exchanged glances with his wife,   
who looked irritated at his choice of words, but said nothing, "very good," he repeated,   
"which makes me all the more nervous."  
  
Thayet nodded with approval.   
  
"All the advantages seem to be on our side. As Myles says, there are no lack of   
candidates within the border, there are no serious misgivings about the Prince, and there   
are no significant issues of concern within the Empire. From a personal perspective," he   
paused, not knowing how to pick his words without resulting in expressions of abject   
disgust from wife, Champion or old friends, "there are far worse possibilities." He   
settled. "From a political perspective, it's an offer too good to be true. Which means, it   
generally is."  



	4. More Introductions

  
Chapter 4 – More introductions  
  
It was a few weeks later when two riders crossed from the Roof of the World to Sarain.   
They looked remarkably alike, a young man and woman of about twenty, with pale blond   
hair and dark eyes – the woman's blue, the man's brown. Dressed plainly, but warmly,   
they rode well-bred, but hardly flashy horses, and bore their weapons with the air of those   
well versed in their use.   
  
They'd 'cheated' – Kay's term, not her twin's – on some of the longer, more deserted   
parts of their journey west from Bersone. Imperial citizens may have known of the   
various 'special talents' of their ruling family, but that didn't mean that they always kept   
them in mind. By using those talents, and taking the fastest routes possible, whether by   
boat or horse, they'd reached Yevgen's new home in a fraction of the time it had taken   
the invasion force less than a year before.  
  
Prince Yevgen of the Imperial House of Delmaran, gazed out at the barren plain that had   
once held thriving pasturelands and farms. Charred remains and rotting vegetation   
showed the evidence of heavy fighting. He'd been agreeable to his mother's original   
proposal that he take over the governance of this newest, outlying province, and relations   
with the realms west of the Roof. Neither a military career, though he was a good fighter   
and tactician, nor politics particularly appealed to him, as it had to his sisters.   
  
He had not, however, originally been agreeable to the small attached condition that he'd   
have to marry the granddaughter of the last Warlord, a Tortallan princess. It smacked too   
much of horse-breeding and despotism, he'd said. His sisters had sighed, humoured him   
by letter for a little, and finally, when they were both home, Rislyn from her political   
manoeuvrings in some testy southern provinces, Berenice – whom everyone called 'Kay'   
– from her garrison command in the north, taken him aside for a little talk about political   
expediency and international history.   
  
He still didn't agree with their logic, but knew there was little real choice. The Saren   
lowlanders, and their K'mir neighbours, held (from an Imperial perspective) a   
ridiculously high regard for pedigrees. Even Yevgen had to agree that the task of   
governing would be easier with someone who would at least be held with some sort of   
emotional regard by the people. Princess Kalasin was the daughter of Thayet jian Wilima,   
now Queen of Tortall, who, in turn was the daughter of the last Warlord and his K'miri   
wife. That was about as much as Yevgen knew about his proposed bride.   
  
He was aware that Kay knew more. He was also not going to give her the satisfaction of   
knowing his curiosity. Kay had stayed with their mother and elder sister for longer than   
he after he'd stormed out when the plans were first put to him. It was she who chased him   
down and dragged him back to put his point across, reasoning that, yes, perhaps their   
mother wouldn't listen, but at least he wouldn't have behaved like a spoilt brat. She was   
also receiving all the co-respondence from Bersone. His 'special talents' were limited,   
like most Delmaran males, while both his sisters had inherited them in greater quantities.   
  
Kay shaded her eyes and looked at a few dots of horsemen on the far horizon. Her eyes   
had the slightly unfocused look she wore when she was using someone (or something)   
else's eyes to scout. She came back to herself, and nodded to her brother. "That's our   
escort. Ready to go?"  
  
  
Corus  
  
Radanae was scanning the latest correspondence from Bersone. It was a quiet afternoon,   
with the Ambassador in highly sensitive talks with the Tortallans, where no aides were   
invited. As such, Imperials were flopped all over the suite, most of them bored.  
  
Justinia was letting Ryane give her a manicure. That was a sure sign that both of them   
were probably close to being comatose with boredom. The delegation in Tortall had   
settled into a comfortable routine. The morning meant practice, first among themselves,   
then with the Tortallans and whoever else was around, then the aides would be needed to   
help with the talks. After lunch, the Ambassador had more sensitive discussions, where   
there was, at most, just Radanae, but more commonly no aides at all. Evening meant   
more parties and functions, which became more elaborate as the wedding between Prince   
Roald and Princess Shinkokami neared.   
  
The Ambassador planned to have all the issues finalised by the wedding, and the majority   
of the delegation would return to the Empire afterwards. If the Tortallans wished it, she   
would leave a small, symbolic party behind to help organise the details of the marriage of   
Kalasin and Yevgen.   
  
Most of the sticking points concerned the betrothal arrangements. At first, Radanae had   
thought that unusual, given the generous Imperial offers, before she figured out that the   
generosity was making the Tortallans uneasy. Arranged marriages were unusual enough   
in the Houses than any such proposal had to be accompanied by very generous terms. It   
seemed that in the Eastern lands, where such things were more common, the proposed   
were looking frantically for a catch.   
  
She continued with the letters. Most of the other delegations, who had simpler issues like   
trade to discuss, had already finished and were their way back. The Maren delegation was   
being unbearably smug, because a junior Maren prince (one of King Barnesh's numerous   
impoverished distant cousins) had unexpectedly fallen head-over-heels in love with one   
of the aides. To add insult to injury, she was just as ridiculously smitten, he was a   
moderately powerful mage, and willing to leave Maren and return with them to the   
Empire. The Empress (or more accurately, probably Rislyn, who at twenty-three was now   
deemed able to handle day-to-day matters) was pleased enough to offer them a fief on   
the Sarain/Maren border, places at court, and considerable other privileges.   
  
Rislyn and Berenice had taken their 'baby' brother aside, and presumably told him the   
hard cold facts of life. Whatever they said, it worked, because reports said that he and   
Kay and gone to Sarain to oversee the rebuilding and to start planning a new government.   
Kay would stay until, as she put it, 'things were limping along', or when Yevgen and   
Kalasin were used enough to each other to rule. She would return to her promising   
military career, and supporting Rislyn (Kay had been Duxa Seconda, only narrowly   
defeated by Justinia in the final rounds).   
  
Radanae and Justinia had received a few personal letters from the Princess, with whom   
they had shared rooms and tents over the last fourteen years. Berenice's sense of humour   
was much better suited to the military woman than the princess. She didn't quite have   
Rislyn or Radanae's taste for political intrigue.   
  
The Ambassador came into the suite, and various aides and guards picked themselves off   
the floor and furniture to help her. "Almost finished," she breathed as someone poured   
her a cup of tea. She looked exhausted, probably exasperated by her efforts to conceal   
that exhaustion in front of the Tortallans. "Trade routes, trade agreements, Inland Sea,   
Sarain, even bringing in Tortallan architects for the new Palace, all of that's done, most   
of the betrothal contract's done – except where the wedding's going to take place, and the   
guestlist."  
  
"You mean the fate of a country rests on a pack of invitations?" Justinia, ever the military   
woman, sounded amazed.  
  
"Basically," Ryane shrugged. "Don't do that!" she snapped as Justinia made to run her   
fingers through her hair, a nervous habit, "you'll get polish all over it!"  
  
"What do the Tortallans want?" Radanae asked, curious.  
  
"They want it here, of course, so they can meet Yevgen."  
  
"What's the problem?" Justinia asked. Most Imperial Houses held the wedding at the   
bride's familial estate. They had been expecting to drug Yevgen senseless (he got terribly   
seasick when travelling on water by conventional methods) and drag him Tortall   
eventually. He would have come with the delegation had he not decided to be Yevgen.   
  
"There isn't one," Lansherry took a sip of the tea, "but we have to sound as though there   
is, or they would think it odd. We've already taken up enough time allaying their   
suspicions about us. Here, it takes place at the groom's home, especially if he's got   
responsibilities in governance. Princess Shinkokami didn't even meet Prince Roald for   
several weeks after she came to Tortall, and his Highness has never been to the Yamani   
Isles."  
  
Several of them paused at that, admiring the courage of the two involved, and finally   
thought about the mess from Yevgen's perspective.   
  
  
  
"Kalasin?" Thayet probed her daughter gently as Kalasin stared at the same page of the   
betrothal contract for several minutes. They were in the princess's rooms with the latest   
draft of the proposed document. Jon sat some distance away, looking surprisingly   
awkward in the pretty room, somewhat unsuited to Kally's real character. The only   
indication that the room didn't belong to a typical luxury-loving convent darling was the   
wealth of dog-eared battle treatises on one of the bookshelves, and a longbow and glaive   
in the weaponsrack next to a never-used loom.   
  
Kalasin and Thayet were at an embroidery table more often used as a desk. The heavy   
stack of paper was divided into the 'read' and 'unread' piles, with 'unread' much thicker.   
Kalasin was not present in what Thayet derisively referred to as the 'haggling' (though   
never anywhere her children could hear, for obvious reasons), and the information she   
had on her future came filtered through her parents and neat black script.   
  
Kally shook her head, picked up a quill and initialled the numbered points of the contract   
and the bottom of the page without really reading it. She went through the rest of the   
document in similar fashion, laid down the quill and stood up. "Looks fine to me," she   
said quietly, then walked over to the window. By her request, her view was not of the   
carefully tended garden that most other ladies seemed to prefer, but the Royal Forest. She   
started to laugh. "Sixteen points about how much interference the Empire may take on   
Lowlander-K'mir blood feuds and twenty on naval patrols on the Inland Sea. One point   
about a wedding of some sort. I hardly think it's my place to give my approval."   
  
"Kally…" Thayet began.  
  
"I've already agreed, mother," she said, turning around and sitting on the window seat   
with an inelegant thud. "As Lianne says, no matter what this Prince Yevgen is like he   
can't possibly be worse than King Barnesh."  
  
The four times widowed, back on the marriage-market King Barnesh of Maren was   
certainly older than Jon, and it was questionable whether he was much younger than King   
Roald, Jon's late father.   
  
Jonathan winced. It was definitely true that aside from Emperor Kaddar, there were really   
no personable eligible males among the Eastern royals – except his own sons, of course,   
but that wasn't the point. A twenty year old prince, from a mysterious land that produced   
thousands of female knights, described as handsome, with no known deviations,   
combined with full joint rule and authority, certainly would look a very attractive   
prospect in comparison.  
  
"And if worse comes to worse, item 76 provides that I'll have the same powers he does.   
We can just sign laws and ignore each other."   
  
  
  
  
Justinia had made several friends on the practice courts in the past few weeks. Foremost   
among them was Lady Keladry of Mindelan, the first known female knight in Tortall in   
over a century. Sir (or Lady – it seemed to change depending on the speaker) Alanna, as   
everyone was eager to tell the Imperials, had disguised herself as a boy for eight years, so   
she didn't really count. Justinia was explaining just how hard that would have been under   
Imperial training, where swimming and water rescue were compulsory elements in their   
studies.   
  
"Well, not that that's an issue, of course," she finished, "there's always been female   
knights. Of course, numbers depend on the years. If it's a really boring stage of history,   
it's only the scion – that's the eldest daughter – who has to go so she can inherit the   
House titles and lands – but all the other children don't have to. If one thinks that giving   
up the House name and noble privileges is worth something else, they've always done it.   
Some scions have given it up for younger sisters, in fact." If there was a personal tone in   
Justinia's voice, Keladry was polite enough not to mention it.   
  
"It's a little different here," Keladry and Justinia were watching the others train after their   
hand-to-hand bout. They'd had three rounds, Justinia winning two and Kel the other. "If   
you're a male noble, you generally become a knight – there are a few other careers –   
healers, mages, priests, and so on. Girls go off to the convent, and then get married.   
When I first started here, the Master of Ceremonies nearly had an apoplexy. I wasn't a   
noble lady, and no one really accepted a female page. It's changing now, of course," Kel   
added, nodding to where the first year pages were having a riding lesson, two girls and   
eight boys. Unlike nine years ago, as far the Kel was aware, the girls were no more   
bullied than the boys, and even the bullying had largely stopped beyond the usual fetch-  
and-carry demands after whispers about the reasons the Chamber had killed Joren of   
Stone Mountain started to circulate. While no one was actually sure, no one was taking   
any chances. Bullying was just the simplest of the explanations.   
  
After wincing in sympathy as one of the girls was thrown off her horse and stepped on,   
the two knights went to see their horses. To both Tortallan and Imperial surprise and   
shock, the two women's horses got along together, Kel's vicious Peachblossom and   
Justinia's equally foul-tempered dappled mare Uma.   
  
The two horses were apparently chatting over the fence that separated the paddock and   
stables given over to the Imperials, and the paddock where the King's Own turned out   
their horses on a fine day. Both ignored their riders, intent on gossip.  
  
Justinia hesitated, "Lady Keldary, do you know her Highness the Princess Kalasin well?"  
  
"No, not really," Kel confessed, surprised at the direction of the inquiry. "Why do you   
ask?"  
  
"Just curious," Justinia brushed it off, "the Court holds you instrumental in persuading   
his Highness the Crown Prince and the Princess Shinkokami in becoming better   
acquainted. I had hoped…never mind…"   
  
"It was awkward, at first," Kel admitted, seeing where Justinia was going, "the most   
important thing was to try and find their mutual interests."  
  
"Well," Justinia shook her head as though to clear it. "I've never been so glad I'll never   
have to go through something like that,"  
  
"Me too," Kel agreed wholeheartedly, as they both walked back, horses in tow, to get   
their tack for a ride through the forest.   
  
  
  
  
Preparations for the wedding of Roald and Shinkokami were in full swing, but that didn't   
stop Numair from his research. A cynic would remark that he didn't even notice the fuss,   
only that the library appeared to be quieter as pages and squires were commandeered to   
help with seating arrangements and chores. He finally found the spell he was looking for   
and barged into a small meeting of the King and his councillors as they were reviewing   
the final draft of the agreement.   
  
He explained the scrying spell. King Jonathan and all the others on the Council   
(especially Sir Myles and Baron George) wanted more information on the Empire. King   
Jonathan and Queen Thayet especially wanted more information on the Prince. Since   
there was not the usual scrying focuses – a portrait or personal belonging – there had to   
be a new type of spell. Numair had finally come up with the idea of using the Seals on the   
contract itself.   
  
The spell, though it would take a great deal of magical energy to set up, would require   
surprisingly little to maintain, which would make it virtually undetectable.   
  
Princess Kalasin signed the contract, if not with enthusiasm, at least knowing and   
understanding all the points and agreeing. It was countersigned by her parents. The   
Ambassador took both copies – after they were signed one copy would be returned to   
Tortall – indicating that she would send them to the Empress and the Prince. It should,   
she said, return before the majority of the delegation left directly after the wedding of the   
Crown Prince. If not, anyway, a small party, including her personal aide and several   
guards would remain in Tortall, preparing for the wedding. After some wrangling, the   
Imperials had agreed to hold the wedding in Corus, in the autumn, with the Prince   
escorting his new bride back to Sarain for the coronation before winter set in, travelling   
by ship and then horseback.   
  
After the Ambassador, her aides, guards, and all the other Ambassadors, Envoys and   
various courtiers who had turned up to watch the signing had left, the King, Queen, their   
daughter and their most trusted advisers departed to the small, private chamber where   
Numair was setting up the spell. Prince Roald managed to tag along almost unnoticed.   
  
After a few false tries, where they ended up in various offices around Corus that used the   
Royal Seal (Jon found out about the amount of creative accounting going on in Treasury,   
so it wasn't a complete waste), they finally found the betrothal contracts. Sealed, they lay   
on a table in the Ambassador's quarters. A little way from the table, a small group of   
aides and guards were picking coloured stones out of a box. One of them, the   
Ambassador's personal aide, picked up a purple-and-red striped one, and sat at the table   
with a grimace.   
  
She opened another box with a pulsing crystal and said some words that no one could   
quite catch. In an instant, the water in the scrying bowl spun around in a whirlpool,   
before settling on another desk, and the contracts lying on it.   
  
There was another mysterious box on the desk, but their attention was taken away by the   
woman who took the thick contracts, broke open one, and read it.   
  
She was little older than Jon or Thayet – probably in her mid to late forties, handsome,   
with grey-streaked copper hair, pulled off her face with a simple silver circlet set with a   
single small diamond. Dressed in an elegant dark purple gown of unfamiliar cut, she   
scanned the pages quickly, nodding with definite satisfaction from time to time.  
  
"It's come?" the voice was younger, female, as a twenty-odd years younger version of the   
woman came into view. This one was dressed in a rather unimperial manner, two knee-  
length, short-sleeved tunics of thin gauze in contrasting colours, one over the other, and a   
plain silver band to hold her hair back. She read the contract over the older woman's   
shoulder.  
  
"It's fair enough," she admitted, "are you going to send it to Yevgen today, or let   
everybody else pore over it?"  
  
"If I can," the older woman told her, reaching for a pen and signing both papers. "There's   
nothing in it that needs the approval of council or Senate, and nothing they don't already   
know about."  
  
(The Empress and the Crown Princess, Sir Myles observed. I would have   
expected…never mind)  
  
"I wonder how Kay's going to feel about going to Tortall," Princess Rislyn chuckled, re-  
reading the section that detailed the wedding plans. "She thought Sarain was the end of   
the world as it was."  
  
"Who said I was going to send Kay?" Empress Vanaria raised an eyebrow at her eldest   
child.  
  
"Come on, mother," Rislyn flopped onto a chair with an easy familiarity which indicated   
that she was comfortable in her mother's confidence, (Roald made a quickly suppressed   
noise of envy) "you did not send her with Yevgen to Sarain to have her stay there to paint   
the walls while he goes off to do whatever he has to do. Anyway, he'll need some support   
from at least one of his big sisters."  
  
(So the younger princess's name probably isn't pronounced the way it's spelt, Sir Myles   
muttered, I should make a note about that)  
  
"You can go and visit them in Sarain on your progress west next year, if you like. The   
Doi tribes have been complaining about Immortal incursions. You can go have a look at   
how the defences are going. It's not very far from Chitral to Sarain." the Empress re-  
sealed the documents and handed placed them under a pulsing crystal.   
  
Prepared, this time, the Tortallans moved away from the table as the water splashed out   
of the scrying bowl. Alanna swore in language to take the varnish off the table, then   
blushed and added more water.   
  
It was a completely different scene to the elegant study that the Empress had seen the   
contract in. It appeared to be a simple military command tent, set up on a barren plain.   
The ruins of a city could barely be seen past the flap.  
  
Thayet gasped in horror. Concerned, Jon put an arm around her shoulders. "It's the   
Palace," she whispered. The tent flap blew aside to reveal the charred shell of a once   
grand castle. Understanding, and imagining it was Corus, Jon held her close, heedless of   
the others in the room. There was scaffolding around the outer walls, and those of the city   
further down the hill, and the noise of rebuilding.   
  
Their attention was caught up in the scene that they almost didn't see the contracts being   
picked up and read by a third woman. While the likeness was not so striking as that of the   
Crown Princess, there was no mistaking who this was, especially in the context of the   
previous conversation. Fair haired, indigo eyed, her manicured nails looking odd on   
hands with warrior's scars and sword-calluses, Princess Berenice scanned her brother's   
betrothal contact.  
  
(Can't the poor man do anything without his mother and sisters going over it first? Roald   
grumbled)  
  
She nodded once, and strode out of the tent, her stride easy and confident, well used to   
the weight of the sword and dagger than hung from her belt. She moved though a tent city   
to the scaffolded castle.   
  
She held up a hand and called "Yevgen!"   
  
A man, dark haired like most of the Imperials, turned around.   
  
Kalasin, for all that she had been playing the dutiful princess, couldn't hold back a her   
horror. The Imperials had said 'twenty, and handsome'. Even allowing for diplomatic   
language, that was an outright lie. This man was in his early twenties, certainly, but   
calling him handsome was a little like calling King Jonathan blond. 'Ugly' was an   
understatement.  
  
"Silas," the woman greeted him (Kalasin breathed an audible sigh of relief), "Where's   
my brother?"   
  
Silas, who was wearing a mail shirt and rank markings that indicated he was an   
unknighted military officer, made a vague motion upwards.  
  
Berenice shaded her eyes and gazed up the high walls of the old citadel, now rapidly   
being repaired. "Yevgen!" she called again, "can you come down, please?"  
  
Keladry, who had somehow managed to be dragged along with Lord Raoul, looked   
distinctly ill as a figure literally jumped off the wall, grabbed a rope hanging from a   
scaffold and slid down, landing neatly at the Princess's feet.  
  
"Show off!" she said affectionately, brushing dust off his collar.   
  
The Prince was taller than his sister, and rather good-looking in a conventional, clean-cut   
way. His pale hair and freckles made him look a little younger than his twin. Kalasin   
breathed a very audible sigh of relief.   
  
He glanced at the papers in her hand. "They've arrived?" his voice was a pleasant low   
tenor, but there was no mistaking his distinct lack of enthusiasm.   
  
Kalasin wasn't sure whether to be relieved or insulted by his complete lack of interest.   
  
Berenice nodded, and with a sigh, her brother followed her as they walked around the   
walls and passed through a gap that appeared to have been made by a battering ram.  
  
(That was my mother's garden, Thayet observed sadly as the two imperial children   
picked their way through a barren, bare patch of dirt.)  
  
There was a table under an awning in the middle of the dust patch, covered with papers,   
maps, blueprints and plans.   
  
"Still trying your first idea?" Kay asked, picking up a plan. "I don't think Saren and   
Imperial architecture quite go together, to be honest. And from Ryane's sketches, the   
Tortallan is just going to clash with both."   
  
"We're going to try and keep the old Saren façade," her brother plucked the plan out of   
her hand and placed it back on the table, "and restore most of the public areas. Saren   
architecture, Imperial defences and conveniences, basically. I'm not doing without proper   
plumbing or central heating if it can be avoided – and it can – for the sake of aesethics.   
There's plenty of room in the old dungeons for pipes and furnaces, and all these odd   
hollows in the walls. We're going to try and make the outer walls something that an   
invading army's going to need more than a few climbing spikes and ropes to get over."  
  
Queen Thayet looked very, very insulted.   
  
Kay broke open one of the contracts and handed to him. The Prince pushed some papers   
aside, sat on the table, and scanned it quickly while his sister rifled through the other   
blueprints, much to the distress of a small architect who was revealed on the other side of   
the table. "Are you still going to re-build the Queen's Wing?" she asked, picking up   
another bit of paper. "There's nothing left there. You might as well reconfigure the place.   
It's on the opposite end of the building to your rooms….oh, I get it," she put it down   
again as her brother raised an expressive eyebrow.   
  
Kalasin got it too, and did not look happy.   
  
"Obviously, we'll skip the tower," Yevgen said absent-mindedly as he finished the   
document, sighed, picked up a quill from the table and signed it with the same distinct   
lack of eagerness as Kalasin had. He blew on it to dry the ink and then handed it back to   
his sister, and waited as she gave him the second one.   
  
"Mother wants you to write a little note to go with the ring and the sapphires, too." She   
told him. "Gifts," she shrugged, in response to his raised eyebrow.   
  
Looking long-suffering, he got off the table, dragged a stationery chest out from under   
the table and selected a piece of parchment embossed with what the Tortallans now knew   
at the Imperial crest, with the sign of the third knighted child.   
  
"How long do you think it will be before the building crews arrive?" Kay asked.  
  
The Tortallans made noises of surprise. There was already a great deal of building going   
on in the background, and the Prince and Princess were apparently not worried about   
having their conversation in public.   
  
"A few more weeks. They were held up with Chitral for a few days – bad weather.   
Things should pick up when they get here."  
  
"I should bloody well hope so," his sister muttered, "I do not look forward to autumn in   
this ice-cube without central heating or hot baths."   
  
"Spoiled brat," her brother teased as he wrote something on the parchment. His sister   
read over his shoulder, blocking the view of the Tortallans.   
  
"Very pretty," she complimented as she sealed the note. She took it and one of the   
contracts. "I got letters from Radanae and Justinia yesterday – snail mail – are you sure   
you don't want to know what Princess Kalasin looks like?"  
  
"I hate to say this, sister dear," the prince shook his head, "but may I hazard to say that a   
cavalry officer who dislikes humans on principle, and a diplomat who dislikes people   
randomly, aren't the best pair to give an objective view? Besides," he continued, "even if   
they didn't try to spare me, you would. The less I know, the less I'll be disappointed   
when I meet her."   
  
Kalasin looked very insulted.   
  
In the water, the princess broke off a chuckle to dive into the chest, bringing out the   
largest opal any of them had ever seen, framed by a silver setting. It was pulsing slightly.   
Berenice frowned, looking worried.   
  
"Get a mage here, quickly," she turned around and snapped at someone out of view.   
"There's something very odd going on. Ripples like the air around a sending. Do you   
sense anything?"  
  
He brother paused, then shook his head.   
  
Numair swore. "I thought this was all but undetectable," he muttered.   
  
"She just detected it." Alanna told him. "Cut it off. She may pass it off and we can try   
again later. If we stay, they'll get suspicious."  
  
Grumbling, Numair moved his hands and muttered in a sylibant language. The water   
steamed, then evaporated, taking the picture and leaving the bowl empty.  



	5. Signed and Sealed

Tortall5 Part 5 – Signed and Sealed. 

One copy of the contract, signed by Prince Yevgen and the Empress was duly delivered to the Tortallans several days later. It was accompanied by a betrothal ring, a beautiful, delicate thing of diamonds embedded in silver. There was also, allegedly, a gift from the Prince himself. It was certainly accompanied by a very eloquent note with a signature that matched than on the contract. It expressed his compliments and wish to make her acquaintance in the near future, in the polite, formal language of someone who read far too much poetry when they were bedridden with injuries. 

The princess in the scrying bowl had described the gift as 'sapphires', but that did not begin to describe the contents of a deceptively plain wooden box the Imperials gave Kalasin. Inside lay a necklace, bracelet, earrings and tiara of filigreed silver studded with diamonds and sapphires. Each stone was exactly the same size, and cut perfectly, and the workmanship of the pieces was exquisite. They lay on a bed of fine-woven gauze, which proved to be a delicate wool shawl in various shades of blue ranging from almost white to indigo, threaded with silver, and so fragile it could be rolled up and passed through the ring. 

"You know, if we hadn't seen him, I would almost think that he cared," Kally said to her younger sister as she showed Lianne the gems. 

Lianne snorted in a very unladylike manner. "Whether he does or not, he didn't choose them." she pointed out. "Men never would. He'd pick some huge bits of rock set in the gaudiest gold he could find so you'd stand out a mile and show everyone how rich he was. His mother or sisters would have in any case. The only difference is that you know that they did." She paused. "They are pretty, though," she said grudgingly, "and they know what you look like and what would suit." 

"It's been several weeks," Kally said, fastening the necklace and looking into the mirror, "we would have expected them to have said something about my teeth. Anyway, we heard him," she had already related to Lianne the conversations they had heard among the Imperial family in the scrying bowl, "his sister knows, at least – an aide and a guard who are here have written to her – and he didn't want her to tell him. He didn't want to be disappointed, he said," Kally took the necklace off and threw it forcefully back into the box. It rattled, but didn't break, testimony to the good workmanship. 

"At least you know that both of you are going into the thing with the same feelings," Lianne comforted, "we can't all be like Roald and Shinko." 

Though it wasn't obvious to any except those who knew them, it was becoming increasingly evident as time passed that the next King and Queen of Tortall would carry on the Conté tradition of being sickeningly devoted to each other for another generation. 

It made well for more Contés, but it made Roald's younger siblings nauseous and more than a little envious. With Roald and Kalasin's marriages already arranged, the younger three were becoming increasing anxious with the unpromising remaining pool their parents were looking through. As Lianne often remarked, anyone was better than King Barnesh, but really, it was a close call. The Scanran warlords were swiftly becoming even less appealing, and that was saying something. With Kaddar of Cathak, who Daine the wildmage still corresponded with and described as personable, already married, and Kalasin betrothed to what appeared to be the last remaining young, handsome prince with no obvious faults, Lianne did not want to think about the remaining eligibles.   
  
  


The wedding of Roald and Shinkokami was everything one would expect of a marriage involving the heir to a throne. It was either magnificent or boring, depending on one's views of such gatherings. Queen Thayet was seen to wipe away a single tear as her eldest child made his vows. King Jonathan, as always, looked regal and full of fatherly pride. All attention not on the bridal pair seemed to focus on Lady Keldary, especially that of the young men – the lady knight, serving as a bridesmaid to the new Crown Princess, was as exquisite as a princess herself. As usual, Lord Raoul, Knight - Commander of the King's Own, and Commander Buri of the Queen's Riders looked as though fighting urges to bolt out the door while nobody was looking. Alanna the Lioness and her husband, Baron George, observed the proceedings with polite interest, but seemed to have their minds elsewhere. Numair Salmalin, the black-robed mage, looked distracted and agitated, as though preoccupied with something that had nothing to do with weddings. Daine the wildmage had slightly unfocused eyes that indicated she was listening to something other than the priest and priestess. 

Standing with the royal family, Kalasin looked at her brother and imagined her own, all-too-soon-approaching nuptials. Unlike Roald, she would not have the luxury of several years to make the acquaintance of her partner. Her only consolation was that he would be coming to Tortall for the wedding, instead of she having to be parcelled up and delivered halfway across the world to a stranger, as had happened to her new sister-in-law. She knew what he looked like, and wondered what his character was like. So far, she had only seen his interactions with his sister – and Lady Alanna, who would certainly know, said that it appeared that the princess was the dominant twin, and that the pair would probably behave very differently together than when they were apart. 

Radanae sat with the rest of the foreign Ambassadors and Envoys and wondered if she'd forgotten to pack anything in Lansherry's luggage. The Ambassador had offered, and the Tortallans had accepted, a small delegation to remain to sort out any last minute difficulties concerning the wedding arrangements and the arrival of the Prince. Radanae was the nominal head, her first real diplomatic responsibility. Justinia would remain, as would three male knights from the Honour Guard, including Tomas and Deryn. All of them had 'talents' – the main reason for their selection – and all bar Justinia had enough of the Gift to activate the communication and transportation devices. 

The wedding banquet carried on until the small hours of the morning. The Ambassador and more sensible members of the entourage went to bed early, as they would ride before dawn to depart to Port Caynn. Radanae was among the less sensible who joined in the carousing, reasoning that she didn't need to get on the ship, and a short ride to and from the port was hardly going to require sleep. 

"How's the wine?" an elderly plump man with a stain on his dress tunic sat next to her. 

Radanae bowed in her seat to Sir Myles, having deciphered by now that he was, at the very least, a trusted councillor to the King, and possibly some sort of spymaster. His nose was slightly red, as though he'd had a few too many cups, but his eyes were still shrewd. He caught her noticing, and bowed in reply. They weren't going to pretend to be the court drunk and the young woman far from home and miscalculating drinks at a party. They were going for another round of verbal fencing about the politics of their respective homelands. Not an appropriate pastime for a party, thought Radanae sourly. 

"The white's very nice," she told him, filling his goblet, "not too sweet, not too dry." 

"Hmm…" he savoured the liquid. "'53? No…'54. If you ever get the chance, try the '57. It's still a little young, but it glides like silk." 

Radanae made some noises of appreciation of Tortallan wine. A roar from the dance floor indicated that it was time to escort the newly married couple to the bridal chamber. Both Myles and Radanae got up to throw handfuls of the rose petals and nuts that had decorated the tables in the general direction of the furiously blushing Roald and Shinkokami. They were separated near the door, Roald being dragged away by his friends among the young knights, with his father and older relatives trying to keep some semblance of order with very limited success. A King who can sense every leaf and pond in his kingdom is no match against a score of not-very-sober young men. Shinkokami was led away with a degree more dignity (but not much) by her ladies, the princesses, and the Queen, who gleefully joined in. Lady Keladry looked as though she wasn't sure which party to join, before hurrying after the women. 

From her slightly irritated look all evening, at least half of her old friends among the knights and squires had tried to proposition her. 

"May I say how glad we all are to have an alliance with so worthy an ally," Sir Myles slurred his words – a nice touch, conceded Radanae – as the din died down. 

"We are equally honoured to acquaint ourselves with such hospitable neighbours," Radanae replied, offering him a tray of unidentified sweets. He thanked her, but shook his head. 

A pause. 

"I am somewhat of a scholar of chivalrous codes and the history of warfare and strategy," Myles said, almost-conspiratorially, "if it is not too much trouble, I wonder if you could enlighten me on some points of Imperial knighthood." 

"If you so wish, Sir Myles. Where would you like me to begin?" 

"Wherever is most convenient. I confess, I have been curious since the Imperial delegation arrived, but discussions of chivalry hardly ever make it onto the agenda in trade negotiations." 

"I agree, they do not. Training of knights…well, usually a child of a noble House – that is, a child with at least one parent a knight – enters the Knights' Academy – that's at the Imperial Palace – at the age of six. We study the usual subjects – literature, history, mathematics, tactics, strategy, biology, physical sciences, chivalry, ethics, philosophy, law, music, etiquette, dancing," she ticked off all the lessons she could remember, carefully not mentioning several lessons she believed were unique to the Empire, though she knew Tortallan pages and squires were taught the rudiments of magic "and a few others I've already forgotten." She said dismissively, then continued. "Then there's horseriding, swimming, tilting, swordplay, archery, staff, unarmed, knife, and other interesting ways of getting oneself badly injured. Then herb-lore and treatment of injuries. All things going as expected, we're knighted at eighteen, then we spend a year on various military posts. After that, some of us remain as military knights, while others, "she bowed, indicating herself, "are dragged off to copy papers and trim quills." 

"Interesting," Sir Myles said, then refilled her goblet, "in Tortall, we usually start at around the age of ten, though we also knight eighteen-year olds. Do you find that an earlier start makes the education easier?" 

"I really wouldn't be able to tell," she said honestly, "most of us can't imagine any other life." 

"No, I would gather not. I would say the main difference between the Empire and Tortall would be the gender balance. We have the odd female page or squire, but they're quite rare. I take it that there are fairly equal numbers in the Empire?" 

"Pretty much." Radanae shrugged. "It varies, of course, depending on the times, but there are always at least a third of each gender. It's about half at the moment." 

Myles nodded. "I've always wondered. Here in Tortall, all prospective knights take part in rituals before their knightings, consisting of a ceremonial bath and formal instruction in the Code of Chivalry, followed by a night's vigil, before they enter the Chamber of Ordeal, which tests their worthiness. Do you have anything similar in the Empire?" 

Radanae had heard of the Chamber, supposedly a magical room where Tortallan knights underwent unspeakable horrors, but knew very little else about it. 

"Well…" she began. "We have written and spoken examinations in the subjects we're meant to have studied, then a series of running races, swimming races, archery contests, jousts, fencing duels, unarmed and knife bouts, and various other individual and team competitions – teams assigned randomly – they're collectively known as the Trials of Knighthood. Our scores in each of the sections are collated and we're given a ranking within our year. The top ten places have titles – I think you've heard them – Dux for a male, Duxa for a female, followed by their ranking. There are minor titles, too, of course, like my Duxa Sapra Aude, but they're not as important as the overall placings. The top two hundred places are published, given prize money, and their Houses are honoured, and they have first choice of the new military assignments." 

Radanae was not going to mention the Display. It was a remnant of the old Trials, before they had to be civilised and simply work out the rankings of new knights among themselves. 

No matter how many times Radanae told herself that the non-knight participants in the Display were murderers, rapists, slavers and other criminals of the worst degree, she still found it difficult to watch. The Display took place a few days after the knighting ceremonies, after the new knights had a chance to rest. It was when the ten new titled knights executed those condemned to death by the courts in Bersone in the two months or so before the Trials. Bersone and the surrounding countryside became suspiciously quiet and crime-free in those few weeks, for some reason. Of all the methods of execution, the Display was probably one of the worst. Those to be executed were pushed into the Great Stadium in groups of varying sizes, at best armed with soft lead weapons, to face a fully trained, fully armed young knight on a war-schooled destrier. There were worse ways to die, Radanae conceded, and some among the executed deserved no better, but to be cut down in front of an overflowing crowd of over 100 000 baying for blood as part of a grand entertainment and demonstration of the skills of a new crop of knights made her physically ill. 

Like most Cadets at the Academy, she had seen parts of the grisly proceedings from behind the grilled windows of the knights' dressing rooms over the years, but nothing had prepared her for that day, two years ago, days after she had won her shield. She had been in the Gavrillian family box with her parents and older brother, which had one of the best views of the action after the seats of the Imperial family. Yevgen, who'd placed seventeenth, reclined on a chaise near his mother and eldest sister's chairs (he'd broken both his legs and several ribs in his final joust), and shared her mingled fascination and horror as they watched with the rest of the audience. Justinia, Berenice, and eight other of their year-mates had ridden into the sandy floor of the amphitheatre, one by one, and between them, slaughtered more than two hundred men and women to the rapturous applause and cheers of the crowd. 

Once, each prospective knight had to face such a criminal before they were knighted. It was the original Trial. The condemned were usually offered a choice between this and conventional execution by hanging. Those who chose the Trial were given an iron bar to defend themselves against a fully armed Cadet. If they defeated the prospective knight, they were given a pardon, a stern warning against repeating their crime, and a purse of copper to make a new life. There were too many knights now, and not enough criminals in those months (it wasn't practical to feed the condemned for all those months simply for the Display), and there had been instances where the condemned had been lucky. 

Sir Myles interrupted her musings. "I must confess that we're not so formal about it. Fewer knights, I think, so the relative abilities of each is already known." 

"Forgive me sir, if I pry," Radanae asked, curious about the Ordeal, "we have heard of the Ordeal of the Tortallan knights, but we know little of it. Is it permitted that I ask?" 

"Asking, yes, but as to the Ordeal…" Myles breathed out, although he had expected the question eventually. "It's…a test of one's mental suitability to be a knight, I suppose. One already is physically capable if one has survived the training, I'm sure you'd agree. I can't really say much more. Anyone who has had their Ordeal is forbidden to speak of it, especially to one who hasn't been there." 

"Not good for the younger ones to know?" Radanae asked, having expected this sort of answer. 

"No. Definitely not." Myles shook his shaggy head, and nodded in thanks as she refilled his goblet again. The flagon was running dry. One of the few remaining servers took it away and replaced it with a full one. 

At that moment, the various bridal parties were ushered back into the room by the King and other responsible adults, whereupon they took it upon themselves to drink the cellar dry and dance the night away. 

Radanae was dragged away to dance by a none-too-sober young Tortallan knight, leaving Sir Myles behind to ponder their conversation. 

Or to be precise, what hadn't been said.   
  
  


Princess Kalasin did not return to the ballroom after she'd helped prepare Shinko for the bridal chamber. Instead, she went to the Council chambers, where Numair and the other mages had set up the scrying bowl. They hadn't managed to reach the Imperial family since the first time. Numair complained of protections around the Empress and Crown Princess, though said they were standard ones and he could get past them in time. Lady Alanna had flatly forbidden, on pain of some unspecified maiming, contact with Princess Berenice for some more time, since it was the Princess who seemed to be able to detect the spell. 

No one said anything about the Prince. Kalasin was a skilled enough mage to be able to scry, and she remembered every detail of the Imperial Prince's face, though she would have strenuously denied it if she was ever asked. 

It was simple enough to activate the spell. The water bubbled, reluctant, but eventually the image cleared to show her prospective bridegroom. She hadn't remembered that it was the early hours of the morning, almost dawn in Sarain, and that she was unlikely to see much. However, she was wrong. 

She was in a lighted tent, and the Prince, wearing shirt, breeches, boots and a warm mantle against the chill was sitting at a desk littered with ink stained paper and broken quills. Feeling like an eavesdropper, she read over his shoulder. 

_Dearest Lara, _ he wrote 

Kalasin gasped, barely noticing her father come in. Jon made as though to say something, but stopped as he saw the picture in the scry-bowl, and came closer to look. 

The Prince continued. 

_Never fear that I shall say those words we agreed never to say. I will not. It would be wrong of me, and completely untoward at a time like this. I suppose you've heard that I'm getting married in the autumn, to Kalasin of Conté, the eldest daughter of Jonathan IV of Tortall. She's also the daughter of Thayet jin Wilima, formerly the Princess of Sarain, now Queen of Tortall (obviously), the only daughter of Adijun jian Wilima and Kalasin of the K'miri...oh, I forget the Clan. The usual reasons. Kay will drag me to Tortall at the end of summer for it, I believe. She's writing to you too, by the way, and says that if you've let her garrison run to fat she'll stuff you down your horse's gullet. I promised to bring her up on charges of cruelty to horses._

_She still hasn't guessed about us. You would think that my twin, of all people, would have noticed by now, wouldn't you? Then again, I have no idea of her romances, so maybe it's not so surprising._

_I just wanted to wish you good luck for the rest of your career, though I am sure that you won't need it. I hope you will live a long and happy life, and may fortune always grant your heart's desire._

_Yours_

_Yevgen_

He signed it neatly, then sealed the short letter and addressed it. He held it in his hands for a minute or two before putting it in onto a pile of other, more official looking correspondence. 

"Kally?" Jon asked his daughter softly, seeing tears in her eyes. 

"That's so romantic," she said, sniffing. 

That wasn't the word he would have chosen. Imaging how he would have felt if he'd caught Thayet writing break-off letters to ex-lovers before they married, 'romantic' would not have made the list. It would have been considerably worse to when he'd found out that Alanna had run to George Cooper, and then to the Shang Dragon after she'd refused him. What had he felt then? Humiliated, mostly, that the heir to the throne of Tortall had been tossed aside for two commoners, one a thief? Was it anger? Disbelief? Or was it regret, just regret that he, Jonathan of Conté, for all his wealth, power, and good looks could not even tempt the one woman he'd thought he'd ever love? 

He had never been able to work it out, though he'd thought about it in the decades since. Alanna had been right after she'd come back from the Roof of the World. She was no longer Alan his squire, nor Alanna the one girl he could talk to and sleep with. She was a legend. Legends were all very well, but they didn't make very good Queens. Luckily, Alanna had known that more than he. Alanna was the friend of his heart, like Raoul, Gary, to a lesser extent George, and she always would be (notwithstanding that ridiculous spat they'd had over Keladry of Mindelan)…but Thayet? Thayet was his Queen, his partner, the other half of his soul, as the poets warbled. He finally understood why his father, even with his sense of responsibility to his people, had killed himself after Queen Lianne died. Jon didn't even want to think of life without Thayet. He was perfectly aware that it was a fairly short-sighted thing to do, considering his wife went out and tried to get herself killed with one Rider group or another every second week or so, but that didn't matter. 

In retrospect, he felt that it had been far too optimistic of him to believe that any of their children would be conventional. Kalasin's desire to be a page and subsequent obstinacy when he'd tried to reason with her was fairly typical. Lianne had gone through that stage too. So had the younger boys – only with different things, they were page and squire now. Only Roald had not. Roald, the eldest – Roald, who was so aware of his position as heir, so determined to be perfect. 

Roald, who Jon was perfectly aware would probably go quite messily mad in white linen if that perfect, polite, pleasant exterior ever cracked. Jon hoped Shinkokami would help his eldest son open up a little. 

He studied his future son-in-law. The delegation hadn't lied, he thought with surprise and relief. Only twenty years old, and not repulsive – that, at least, gave him two advantages over all the other eligibles. He had the grace and strength of a trained warrior, though he moved a little stiffly in the cold – for it was cold in his tent, despite the charcoal braziers visible, and his breath formed puffs of steam in the air. 

A ripple in the water announced the entry of another person. It was the less-aesethically-pleasing military officer, Silas, who the Prince greeted as an old friend. 

"Why on earth are you up so early?" 

"I could ask the same about you." Silas accepted a cup of hot tea with a bow, and then sat down. 

"I had to write a letter." 

"Ah." 

Silence. 

"Speaking of which, Kay has letters from your cousin." 

"I'm surprised Justinia even remembers she's my cousin." 

"That's harsh. She did sign herself 'House of Zevran,' you know." 

Silas laughed, without humour, "That's only so you know she's a noble at all. I suppose you can see it from her perspective. There's a huge difference between being the daughter of a son of an impoverished House that could barely afford to send him to the Academy, and being scion of the seventh most powerful House in the Empire. She's also aware that if House Ferox hadn't paid for her equipment because old Lady Ferox couldn't bear to see one of her granddaughters, even the daughter of the prodigal daughter, go without knighthood, she'd never have won her shield." He grimaced. "I suppose I shouldn't be too harsh on my younger cousin. Her prize money will let us send all my nieces and nephews who desire it to the Academy. No more crying and sobbing among the younger children about who should go…not that generation, at least." Silas Zevran had an introspective look, as though he remembered being one of those who cried and sobbed when someone else was chosen to live his dream. 

More silence. 

"Dama Felara Eriel?" Silas asked, at length. 

The prince looked flabbergasted. "How did you know?" 

"Who doesn't? She already knows you're getting married, by the way, Kay told her weeks ago so that she wouldn't have to hear it first on the gossip chain." 

"Kay knows?" 

"Of course. You two aren't exactly subtle, and your sister's not exactly thick. She just doesn't think it's any of her business, so she didn't make a point of it. There is a reason that a forty-third ranker got a position under General HongMau on the North-eastern front, and temporary command of the Duxa Seconda's garrison, you know." 

"Bribery?" 

"Rislyn prefers to call it 'constructive distraction'." Silas said mildly, taking another sip of tea. "She's actually a very good commander. I'll always think that her sprint heats were fixed." 

"Forty-third out of over a thousand isn't bad," Yevgen defended. "Besides, I was saying goodbye. It's not as though I'll ever see her again. I'm living out my life on this ice-block – is it never warm here? And if I know my mother and sisters, she'll be given postings everywhere except the western provinces. I have my responsibilities, she'll have hers. We won't write again, and soon, we'll be naught but vague, distant memories of a warm and carefree childhood." 

Silas was laughing. "The only thing I never envied you knights was the Academy. In case you've already banished it from your mind, you lot don't have childhoods, warm and carefree or not." 

"No," there was a ghost of a smile, "that's what happens when you read far too much." 

"It's not as though you would have been permitted to marry her anyway." Silas reminded him, though not unkindly. 

"I suppose not. The down side of having a eight-hundred year old pedigree is that everyone is some sort of cousin, and Mother is very funny about that sort of thing. You should hear the problems Rislyn's having with prospective Consorts." 

Silas raised an eyebrow. 

"Yes, you too. We're about twentieth cousins. They were looking up one of your third cousins for Rislyn once." 

"And?" 

"Even closer. Twelfth, in some very odd way." 

Silas sighed. "I didn't come in here for a chat, I thought you might like to know – we've spotted a delegation of K'mir from the mountains and they should be here about two hours after dawn. Someone's telling Kay now, so you'll hear the cooks panicking right about now…" 

As if on cue, there were sounds of shouting for water, light and fire far in the distance. "I should leave you to get ready. Have we translators enough?" 

Yevgen nodded. "Plenty of K'miri ex-prisoners and ex-slaves are working on the site until they can locate their old clans. We'll find a few." 

Silas hesitated as he was about to leave the tent. "We don't know much about the K'mir. Do you know what they want?" 

"To kill us, probably," Yevgen shrugged as he went and rummaged in a clothes-chest, "they've been fighting whoever wore the Warlord's crown for twenty years now – since Queen Kalasin died, in fact. The first one." He added with a twist to his mouth that Kally understood all too well 

"That's right…her grandmother. Do you think it'll make a difference?" 

"Only one way to find out." The Prince shrugged. "Now go. Can you send someone in to help me with the dratted breastplate and mantle, please?" 

Kally's control was wavering. She was a good scry-mage, and Numair had insisted that this particular spell took little real energy, but the distances involved made it far more difficult than her normal exercises. Feeling a headache coming on, she quickly dissolved the image in the water. 

She turned to meet her father's eyes, the exact shade of her own. There was sympathy there, regret. Not since King Jasson, her great-grandfather, had there been arranged marriages in the family until Roald and Shinkokami. Great Uncle Gareth had told her of the first meeting between his best friend the crown prince, and his sister the Lady Lianne of Naxen the evening Lianne was presented at King Jasson's Court. There had been no going back for either of them after that night. Similarly, Baron George, Lady Alanna, even Buri if she was in a good mood would tell her how her parents had met, her mother only in a clinging sleeping robe, her father's jaw dropping to the ground as soon as he set eyes on her. 

There was a sort of self-deprecating humour when Lady Alanna told the story. Kally had wondered why for years, until someone whispered that Alanna and Kally's father had been lovers while the lady knight was disguised as a boy and his squire. At first, she had wondered if Alanna regretted bringing Kally's mother to Tortall, for introducing her to the king. Later, of course, she realised that the Champion had no such regrets, and had encouraged the match. 

But that had never stopped Kally from thinking what Tortall would have been like with the Lady Alanna as Queen rather than Champion. Would she be in this position? She rather doubted it. But then again, Kally herself probably wouldn't exist. From her conversations with the Lioness's son Thom, an aspiring Mage and a student at the Royal University, she rather doubted that the diminutive Champion could have survived as many closely-spaced pregnancies as Kally's mother had. The Contés had never previously managed large families, and, for the people of Tortall, the extraordinary fertility of the present monarchs had, at times, been the only sign that the dynasty still retained the Gods' favour. Certainly they hadn't managed a great deal of luck in the other aspects of their reign, what with mad relatives, earthquakes, famines, wars, megalomaniac neighbours, Immortals, raiders, and other assorted miscellaneous disasters from time to time. 

"Well," her father said softly, "it seems that I've made a right sorry mess of your life." 

Then, Kalasin of Conté, Princess Royal of Tortall, who had approached the betrothal like any other formal contract, never even mentioning the hope of the sort of happiness her parents had, her grandparents, and their friends had, did something she hadn't done for nearly half a lifetime, when the whole saga had begun. 

She burst into tears. 

Jon held her as she wept, the last, never acknowledged, vestiges of the romantic in her flooding out in gasping sobs.   
  



	6. The Waiting Game

Tortall6 Chapter 6 – The Waiting Game 

Radanae was up with the rest of the Imperials to escort the majority of the delegation to their ship docked at Port Caynn. 

'Up', of course, in the broadest possible terms. 

Luana was not at all sympathetic, the pale grey mare doing her utmost to appear maddeningly cheerful about the ride, itself a reproach that Radanae hadn't taken her out for more than a few sedate trots around the Palace grounds since they had arrived. 

Radanae really, really hated cheerful horses. 

At the docks, the Ambassador made a speech thanking the Tortallans for their hospitality and expressing a wish to Princess Kalasin, who, looking shaken and pale, had accompanied them, to see her soon. The Ambassador would return with the Prince (and Princess) towards the end of summer. In turn, Sir Gareth the Younger made another speech that was remarkable only in its complete ordinariness, and Princess Kalasin sent a gift to the Prince, what appeared to be a rich cloak and a jeweled belt. 

The Ambassador then had a quiet conversation with Radanae herself, last minute advice on the mission, before boarding the ship. 

Radanae, Justinia, Tomas, Deryn and Sir Titus (the fifth member of the remaining Imperial party) waved goodbye from the Tortallan dock. All things going well, they would have a holiday in Tortall, a fantastic party at the wedding, then a leisurely trip home, where promotions and new assignments waited, dropping Kay, Yevgen and Princess Kalasin in Sarain on the way back. 

Radanae may have been inexperienced, but she wasn't stupid. She only hoped that she would be able to cope with the miscellaneous crises that would inevitably arise.   
  
  


Sir Myles and his second, Baron George of Pirate's Swoop, were going through what information their agents had smuggled from the Empire and the few resources from the Royal Library. 

The table was depressingly bare. The most information they'd obtained was from the brief spying on the Imperial Family, and even that was not particularly helpful. Myles grew increasingly irritated and reluctantly admiring as he recalled all the reported and recorded conversations with the Imperial delegation – there was not a great deal of information imparted, despite the long exchanges – that they did not find out some other way. 

"Anything new?" Gary stuck his head around the door and came in with a stack of documents – the trade agreements with the Imperials for Yamani printed silk. 

George made a very annoyed noise. "We have rainfall, we have crops. We have market gossip, we have gods – not very many, and not taken very seriously, from what we can gather – we have reasonably accurate and completely useless information for our purposes." 

"Nothing is useless, George," Myles berated his stepson/adoptive son-in-law sternly, leafing through a stack of travel-stained papers. "We have some military information from their western borders. However," he admitted, "it's not very interesting or surprising. Fortified installations each a day's ride by fast horse from the next, fire-towers for communication, messenger-birds, supplies coming regularly by the month, mail every three days, though there is the occasional courier. They have good relations with the Doi, and they take irregulars from the mountain peoples. I hazard to say that was how they managed to take Sarain with so few casualties." 

"And the fact that the Saren were too busy fighting each other to notice." 

"That too. Anything, Gary?" 

"The Ambassador took her aide off for orders – I couldn't hear what they said – but they sailed out on schedule this morning. We got back just under an hour ago." 

"What of the remaining Imperials?" 

"The four warriors are training. The diplomat went straight to the baths. Myles, how much did you pour down her gullet last night? Don't think I didn't notice. I should think that trying to drown the poor girl won't help our chances for further trade agreements." 

"Not that much, actually. I don't think any of them are used to wine, though. But gods, I got more on their training. It's twelve years of academic rigor I wouldn't wish upon the hardiest child, not to mention their martial training. From what I can gather, we're facing a class of Shang warriors with University degrees." 

"That is not good." 

"No, it is not," George supplied in his lilting tone. "Do y' think we can get more out of them before the Prince arrives?" 

Myles shrugged. "They may be a little less guarded now that the negotiations are over, but I wouldn't hold my breath. If the Empire is as I think, they'll all have been promised promotions and better assignments if they do well here, and terminal obscurity should they fail." 

"Terminal obscurity. That sounds like a disease," Gary joked, shuffling through the papers. It was his equivalent of a nervous habit these days. "They're not terribly interested in staples, though I'm less surprised now than I was a few weeks ago. Their main interest is luxuries – Catharki spices, Yamani silks, Scanran furs – and they're prepared to go through Tortall for them. We've also had a look at the 'gifts' they've sent." 

"And?" 

"I think that Kally's new jewelry has the entire Goldsmith's Quarter in despair. No one, apparently, can replicate it. Ditto with some of the weavings and ornaments they've given to Jon and Thayet."   
  


Things took on a new informality once most of the Imperial delegation had departed. Radanae and the others blended almost seamlessly into the Tortallan court, comparing weaponswork, raiding the library, chatting with the other ambassadors, going to parties. It was a pleasant time, a respite from their duties. A pleasant time that would end very quickly. 

It flew around the Court so quickly that the Imperials caught hold of the thread without even trying. Scanran forces had pushed across the border, across the Grimhold mountains that wavered between Scanra and Tortall depending on who had the more aggressive ruler. Lady Keladry had to be almost physically restrained from saddling her horse and charging north when the news came that her home fief of Mindelan, far to the north and deep in the mountains, was under siege. Lady Alanna was equally nervous about her childhood home, which was only a little further south. 

Radanae went to see the King. 

"Pardon?" King Jonathan was a master at the art of diplomacy, diversion, and hedging, but not even he was prepared for the bald statement. 

Nor, evidently, was his Council. 

"As item 54 c (i) states, your majesty," Radanae repeated, motioning the relevant stack of paper. There were certain advantages in having literally written the thing. She thought that she could probably recite it backwards. "The Empire shall, if requested, provide all necessary and appropriate assistance to the Kingdom of Tortall in the event it comes under attack from a military source not outlined within the constrains of Imperial treaties and law." 

"But the ink isn't even dry yet!" Sir Gareth the Younger felt bound to exclaim. 

"Treaties are ratified the moment the Empress's hand leaves the page," Radanae said, hiding her amusement with some difficulty, "as allies, no matter how new, we are bound to the terms of the agreement. As Imperial representative in the place of her Excellency the Ambassador, it is my responsibility to offer such aid as is stated under the terms of the treaty." 

She waited, still slightly amused at the reactions of the King's Council as she had offered to keep to the treaty. She had been in discussions with both Lansherry and the Empress (who left Radanae in a cold sweat, despite being an old family friend. There was, she found a vast difference between the Empress Vanaria the honourary aunt (who informed Radanae that her younger brother had done very well at the Trials – he was Dux Tertia – third ranked), and the Empress Vanaria the…well…Empress), who had authorised the offer. 

Though the Tortallans did not know, there were Imperial Naval units in the Inland Sea, protecting the diplomatic ships on their journey home, and in an emergency, could dock at Port Legann within a matter of days. The Tortallans had obviously not expected the Imperials to be so forthcoming in keeping their promises. Anything which kept the Tortallans guessing was good, by Radanae's reckoning. She only hoped she was being appropriately ambassadorish. She kept her grin to herself as she recited possible support and forces, and the time it would take each to reach Tortall. She finished, sensed that the Tortallans were going to have a fight and needed her out of the room, then excused herself. 

She was sure that Justinia needed her nails done again.   
  


"**_Ten thousand_** marines in **_three weeks_**!!!" Duke Gareth of Naxen barely waited a few seconds after the aide left the room. From his tone, he was having difficulty staving off a heart attack. "We couldn't even call up than many in three months!! I don't think we even have that many on active call!" 

"Of course, that she sounded apologetic that they were the closest free troops she knew of was the worst part," his son groaned. "Oh to have, of all things, unfamiliar new neighbours who think that ten thousand marines with their ships are a symbolic force! That they have more to take their presence immediately. Might I say how glad I am that they appear to be on our side at the moment? Myles, I don't want to think about other motives they may have. If they want Tortall, they could take it without blinking with that many troops." 

"Has your agent reported back, Sir Myles?" the Lord Provost wanted to know. 

"No. He's due to make a report on the knightly standards and the capital in the next few days, though," Myles shook his head. "The distance means that he can't send very often. It's taken him months by cart and foot to get to the capital. It would look too suspicious for him to order fast horses at changing posts without having good enough information on their procedures." 

"So do we take the risk?" Alanna asked, "We can try to repel the Scanrans alone, knowing that they've made the first move and we have no idea if these are just banded raiding parties or a full-scale invasion force, and perhaps losing the mountains. We're down on Riders and Own in the north, not to mention regulars, aren't we?" she looked grim as Buri, Raoul and other military commanders nodded. "Or we can accept help from extremely convenient, extremely competent – seemingly, at least – new allies, of whom we know even less than the Scanrans!" 

"That's about right." Jon reluctantly agreed. 

"We can leave the door open, though," Thayet argued. "Mention that you couldn't possibly impose upon the Empire for a minor border skirmish, thank them for their concern, and say that you would be gratified to take up the offer at a later date if the occasion demanded it."   
  
  


"Pretty much what I expected," Radanae was telling her four guards that evening after dinner. They'd moved into the suite that had once housed the Ambassador and the aides, not needing the additional rooms assigned to the thirty members of the Guard. A suite that was crowded for ten was strangely empty for five. "Thanks, we'll take a raincheck, basically," she shrugged. 

They sat around cups of tea, discussing the Tortallan's rather unsurprising response. There was something to be said about boring diplomacy seminars, Radanae thought, one worked out very quickly just what the other side was saying. 

"Plan B?" Titus asked, helping himself to a pastry. He was addicted to Tortallan pastries, they found. Since sweets and cakes were only treats for special holidays at the Academy, and he'd been stationed in a particularly unluxurious province (but one which almost always guaranteed speedy promotions), Titus's sweet tooth had been a bit of a surprise to all. 

"Plan B. We did not spend thirty bloody years researching the Eastern Lands to have all our bloody maps made obsolete by one megalomaniac with bad dress sense. That's the Scanran leader by the way – the one with far to many consonants in his name. I'm drained. Can someone else please get her Majesty and her Excellency?"   
  


"Right, so they're offering to ship the Prince here early with an 'extended honour guard'," Sir Myles announced. "Full knights, light and heavy cavalry, mountain warfare specialists, engineers, under the command of Princess Berenice, to take part in 'joint military exercises' with the Northern Army. Numair, have you managed to get the Empress and Crown Princess yet?" 

Numair, looking sleepless, nodded, then motioned to the scrying bowl. It was easier this time, but they heard voices before images came into focus.   
  
  
  


"Maren – I could understand that…" it was a young woman's – the Crown Princess's voice "Galla…maybe…but Tortall? Mother, aside from Princess Kalasin, Tortall doesn't really have much. It's a desert surrounded by mountains with a few farms in between!" 

"It's a very strategically placed desert with mountains around the edges," the Empress was standing at a map-table. It showed the Eastern and Southern Lands, the Yamani and Copper Islands, and to the west to Jindazhen. Further east, beyond some raised bits that apparently represented the Roof of the World, was a huge, unfamiliar continent. They were in a small study, mother and daughter both dressed in rich robes, and had coronets lying carelessly on the edge of the table. "Maren and Galla have been dealt with adequately, and besides, neither Barnesh nor what's-his-name in Galla have enough imagination to cause trouble. Jonathan and Thayet are both clever enough to have looked a gift horse in the mouth, and Jonathan happens to be a fairly powerful mage. Instability in Tortall leads to difficulties in Tyra and Tusaine, and spills over into Maren and Galla – which we do not need. Jonathan and Thayet are both reasonably competent – Crown Prince Roald appears adequate, if dull," 

Roald bristled at that. 

"Crown Princess Shinkokami shows some promise and a degree of practicality. Have Radanae snoop around on the Princess a trifle more, will you? Failing that, the Princes Liam and Jasson show no apparent signs of running stark raving mad with a cleaver. A stable Tortall is in the interests of all the world, not just the Empire. We have enough to deal with without a raving barbarian making trouble near our borders. Adijun jian Wilima was bad enough. If he'd only been adequate, the Sarain operations would never have been necessary." 

"Have you heard from Yevgen, by the way?" Princess Rislyn asked. "I only get his letters weeks later." 

"The Palace is almost finished, and the town. They've concluded treaties with the K'mir tribes and Princess Kalasin sent him a present. Kay was about to send you a report, but they need to recharge. They're packing for the trip to Tortall, and we may be sending ships with troops and specialists with the fleet that takes them there." 

"Well, I suppose the Northern Units might do," Rislyn sounded doubtful, "I hope you remembered to bump Knight-Lieutenant Eriel?" 

"'Lara? Of course. She's riding courier far east, then she has a seminar on desert tactics in Cajilstan at the Zevran House seat. She's a promising girl. HongMau wants her permanently in a few years." 

"Do you ever regret it?" Rislyn's voice was light. 

"If only there were two of Yevgen," the Empress shook her head, "the Conté connection is far more suitable for Sarain, of course, and, much as I like the girl, Felara is military command, not governance material." 

"I wondered how long it would take you to admit that. She is a good second, though. Kay trusts her." 

"With good reason." 

"How many?" 

"Radanae mentioned that the Tortallans panicked at the thought of the ten legions of marines Inland," the Empress moved her finger at the stretch of blue that represented the Inland Sea. "W e may send a few of the more junior cavalry centuries that need seasoning – both light and heavy – there are some south-west near Port Sabastia, plus a few experts – the mountain engineers need more exposure than just the Northern passes. More if they're requested." 

Rislyn nodded. "Kay in command?" 

"Of course. She needs to be independent. The northern commanders have been coddling her, against my orders, and much to her disgust, I imagine." A small smile. 

Rislyn grinned, "Did they tell you that last year, when I had summer-fever, HongMau and his lieutenants used to lock her in the strategy room every time they went out on skirmishes?" 

"No, but I'm not surprised. What do you think of the Carloni boy?" 

"Sabriel? Short-list, certainly. Corin Neshan is still on top, though." 

The Empress nodded with satisfaction. 

"Kay will be happy once she has nieces," Rislyn allowed herself a smile and a shrug, "then she can be as foolhardy as she likes. Corin's very handsome, don't you think?" 

"If that's what you like. We should get out there. They'll start the bloodbath soon." 

Rislyn made a face. "Have I ever told you I really hate watching it every year?" 

"Yes. Every year." The Empress sighed. "I do wish they'll fix the protections on this room soon. I know it's not likely that there will be spies, but I'd feel better if they were there. Get me Ambassador Lansherry when we return," she ordered an out-of-sight person, "she'll just have to pick up a change of clothes at Sebastia and turn back with the troops if the Tortallans accept." 

Mother and daughter left the room, the Crown Princess still muttering, "It's going to cost a bloody fortune…I don't see the point…" as the image faded.   
  
  


"Well, that was informative and useless at the same time," Gary shuffled the papers in front of him, a nervous habit. "Do we take up their offer?" 

"Well, they certainly don't think enough of Tortall to make an effort to invade," Alanna said dryly, sounding slightly insulted at the dismissive tone the Princess had taken to Tortall.   
  


The Imperial idea of an 'extended Honour Guard' for the Prince was four hundred light cavalry, two hundred heavy cavalry, and fifty specialists – siege engineers, supply and logistics experts, artillery designers and such. It would be commanded by his sister, the Princess Berenice, who would be accompanying him. The Tortallans behaved as though it were a surprise, even though they knew from their spying that the Imperials would find some excuse or another for the princess to come, presumably to keep her brother in line. 

Gary, who was doing calculations madly, determined that even with the costs of fodder, and food that were all the Imperials requested, Tortall would still come out on top from the trade agreements – so long as they won against the Scanrans. 

The Prince would arrive with the troops in four weeks.   
  
  


"Scanra is rock." Tomas was never terribly verbose, something that had their oration teachers in despair. "The land is poor, and the vast majority of their income appears to be pillaging their neighbours with their navy." 

"Any match for ours?" Deryn was also pored over some books and scrolls they borrowed from the library. 

"Ours isn't here, so that's irrelevant," Justinia swung her legs over the side of her chair and filed her nails. The polish peeled off in little curls of purple and red lacquer. "I have to wonder, though, about the threat, if they turn aside ten legions of marines for six and half centuries of land troops against a naval enemy." 

"They may have confidence in their own navy, and not enough land troops," Radanae considered, "but the more likely reason is that they don't want ten legions of some unfamiliar power swanning around in their territorial waters where they can't keep an eye on them. It would be easier to keep an eye on six hundred land troops." 

"Bah, politics!" Ever the soldier, Justinia threw up her arms in disgust. 'If we really wanted this pile we could have had it decades ago!" 

"But they don't know that, besides, a King who happens to be able to control the land itself isn't to be trifled with. We've seen him do it before. I doubt we have earth or elemental mages that powerful." 

"There's that chunk of glass he has." 

"It's been centuries since we've had the Dominion Jewel and look what it's done," Deryn reminded. After research both in Tortall and back in Bersone, they had determined that, indeed, the Dominion Jewel of Tortall was one and the same as the fabled Blue Stone (right, fine, for all their talents and virtues, Imperials weren't known for their creativity in the naming department) that had once belonged to the Empire. The Dominion Jewel had helped the Delmaran House, originally a naval family from the eastern seaboard, take the Imperial Throne. It had been returned to Chitral Pass by the third empress, who was no mage, but a gifted general, and clever enough to know the damage it could cause if someone too close to her got hold of it. Since then, the Imperials had kept a close eye on it west of the Roof, so as to be prepared for any unexpected holders of the Jewel. 

There must have been a great many chewed nails and lots of nervous pacing once the news that the Jewel had gone to Tortall, Radanae thought. Tortall, which then was known for a king passive to the point of ineffectuality, with an inexperienced heir, and a mad sorcerer nephew. It didn't help that the said inexperienced heir was a mage, trained by his mad cousin. The transcripts of the Council sessions and Senate debates in the last days of the Empress Berenice VI, Empress Vanaria's mother, were full of hysterical posturing, especially from non-mages.   
  


In Sarain, the second-in-line for the Imperial Throne and her brother were packing. 

"Amazing. We can finally run a decent bath and we get ordered out again!" Kay was not happy as she folded clothes into her travelling trunk. Luckily, Rislyn, who was better than either of her younger siblings at packing for ceremonial affairs, had already promised new wardrobes for both of them on the fleet that would take them to Tortall. That was a relief, as their supplies here were of everyday clothes and combat armor, with only minimal accessories to soften the harsh military gear. "Yevgen? Are you listening?" She called her brother, who was sitting on his cot, poring over a primer in K'mir. 

The language was similar to Doi, of which he had a working grasp, as he had spent his first year of military service on the western borders, learning how to build (and destroy) fortifications. He'd trained as a military and siege engineer, while Kay was a general military commander and strategist. 

No one, precisely, remembered what Rislyn was, only that she couldn't wait to get out of her combat armor and into a diplomat's robes as soon as her year was up, though anyone who suggested the heir was weak or cowardly was in for a nasty surprise on the jousting field or fencing gallery. 

"Hmm…oh yes," He put the slim volume down. "Have they thrashed out the arrangements yet?" 

"I believe so. We dock at Port Caynn, we meet all the importances, we go up north and kill people we've never met before, and have heard of only as part of geography lessons, and then go home. Somewhere in there, you're meant to meet, fall in love with, and marry their eldest princess." 

Yevgen made a face. "I do wish you wouldn't remind me of that," he complained. 

"I have to," his sister retorted dumping a mail-lined shirt into the trunk.   
  
  


Preparations were in full swing in Corus, for the twin difficulties of a war and a royal wedding. For some, it was difficult to see which was causing the most fuss. 

A general Call to Muster brought knights from all over Tortall into the capital to receive orders from the King. 

To Radanae's biased eye, there were very few of them. 

"Remember, they're used to things on a much smaller scale here," Tomas had told her. "The King's bodyguard is barely three hundred strong. Kay's personal units are larger than that. Hells, some of your commands weren't much smaller than that!" 

"Thank you for the vote of confidence," Radanae said dryly. However, it was true, as they saw the Tortallan numbers, that they were small by Imperial standards. There were around a hundred Imperial knights to every Tortallan knight. 

Radanae was very glad now, that she had not mentioned that the particular cavalry centuries promised were predominantly made up of knights, with only a slight leveling of particularly gifted fighters who had come to the attention of other commanders. She had a feeling that the four hundred and fifty knights in the force, most in their first five years of service, would come near to the total number of Tortallan knights. 

The fighting began before the Imperials reached Tortallan waters. Lord Raoul and the King's Own joined one of the innumerable haMinch generals up north. Gossip in the corridors told of mysterious walking metal machines of death.   


"They sound suspiciously like those things General Kyra was experimenting with, only gone drastically out of hand," Justinia had been speaking to Lady Keladry, who had been among the very few of the King's Own to disarm one such machine, when she had been a squire. 

"You know what her Majesty said to the General about them," Radanae said sternly. General Kyra, head of military technology, was brilliant, but sadly, didn't quite have a grasp on what was appropriate in the real world. The Empress had funded siege engines, fortification scalers, large-scale catapults, improved equipment, but had very vocally drawn the line on metallic machines designed to replace front line shock troops, powered by magic. Not only were mages too precious to be wasted on standard military procedures, if the control mechanisms failed, they would be a danger to the very front line troops the machines had been designed to spare.   
  


The weeks until the Imperials arrived were tense ones. Knights and soldiers continued to arrive in Corus, were received by the King and Queen, and dispatched north. Radanae and the rest of the Imperials stayed as obscure as possible, save when discussing details of the deployment with King Jonathan or his generals. There was the expected amount of wariness among them in welcoming a new force, but Radanae made sure that they had no pressing concerns. 

There would be enough headaches once they saw six centuries in full combat gear. 

She was not going to mention the special talents of Yevgen or Berenice. They'd spent weeks convincing the Tortallans that the Empire had almost no magic other than communication spells. The Empire had always preferred to defeat overconfident foes who had underestimated them, than to uselessly display their power. That didn't apply anymore, of course, but it was an instinct. 

Of the previous delegation, only the Ambassador herself would be returning. All the other aides and bodyguards – high ranking young knights who had been pulled from the University, junior command posts, or officers' training for the delegation – would return to their previous assignments. They would return with commendations, and Imperial favor and would be kept in mind for other, better assignments, but to all intents and purposes, their lives would continue as they had before they had come to Tortall. Radanae wondered if the same would happen when she went home – and she had to – Gavrillian had no other heir, with neither of her brothers eligible even if they wanted the responsibilities of the House. Rory, her elder brother, was happy both with his naval career, and his forthcoming marriage to the second daughter of the House of Berlan, a similarly highly ranked aristocratic family. Her parents had written that the jubilant, newly knighted Dux Tertia, her younger brother Kelvar, was overjoyed with an invitation to join the Empress's Swords, a small, highly skilled force designed for covert activities.   


The Scanrans had managed to gain a foothold in the northern passes. Mindelan was holding out with difficulty, and even a company of the King's Own and several squads of the Queen's Riders seemed to have little impact.   
  
  



	7. Face to Face

Tortall7 Chapter 7 – Face to Face 

Radanae was not the only one to be glad when the Imperial fleet was spotted gliding towards Port Caynn. 

Crown Prince Roald and Princess Shinkokami were to greet the Imperial prince and princess, and the return of the Ambassador. Kalasin, much to her disgust, remained in Corus. The arguments were unclear. At any rate, Radanae and the other four members of the delegation waited at the docks, anxiously hoping that they hadn't done anything too wrong during their period of responsibility, even though they had been in regular contact with their superiors.   
  


Later, Daine Sarrasri, who, along with Kitten the dragon, had come along, as the seals that inhabited the water around the Port reported something curious about the Imperial ships, wondered how she could have missed it. Perhaps it hadn't even occurred to her. Not until Kitten had whistled, and she had placed a hand around the badger's claw almost as a reflex, did the tell-tale copper threads around some of the Imperials appear. Suddenly many things began to make sense.   
  


Neither Roald nor Yevgen was particularly talkative in nature, so after the long-winded greetings and introductions, they rode to Corus in almost silence. Shinkokami and Berenice were not so restrained, however, and spoke of everything from the air quality to inhabitants of the Corus zoo. They seemed to be getting along famously, even if the Imperial princess was a great deal more outgoing and had a more dominant personality than the Yamani. Behind them, riding with Ambassador Lansherry, and in front of the six centuries sent as military aid, Radanae gave her quiet report on the last few weeks. 

To her great relief, Lansherry approved. Now, of course, was the ultimate test of a diplomat – involvement in another country's wars. 

They arrived in the Royal Palace in Corus to more ceremonies. Daine observed that the prince, like Numair and Alanna the Lioness, had looked very green after disembarkation and slightly starved – as though he hadn't eaten for a few days so that he wouldn't disgrace himself on the dock. Aside from the slight green tinge under his freckles, however, one couldn't tell as the Ambassador formally introduced him and his sister to King Jonathan and Queen Thayet. Princess Kalasin was still not present, but Yevgen did not ask after her. There was a preliminary presentation of gifts – the larger, live ones. To Radanae's surprise, the Empress had managed to secure the pick of this year's sale-horses from the Gavrillian stud. Kelvar, of course, would have been given the best of the herd for that year by their parents, as Rory and Radanae herself had when they had been knighted. The Gavrillian House may have had unwavering loyalty to the Delmaran House, but that didn't necessarily extend to commercial transactions. Ten magnificent destriers, ranging in colour from the deepest black through bays, chestnuts, golds, and greys to almost cream, fully caprisoned in Conté colours, and a litter of mastiff puppies, who Radanae knew from experience would grow into enormous brutes the size of ponies, with teeth and jaws to rip limbs off.   
  


"Well?" Kalasin demanded as soon as her brother entered the Council chambers. She had not been happy to be ordered not to greet her proposed bridegroom. By rights she should have already been in her rooms, getting ready for the ball to welcome him. 

"He's quiet," was Roald's comment as he sank into his chair. Shinko had gone to make sure that the ranking members of the Imperial force were settled in the envoys' wing, while the soldiers were camped in their own area near the Palace, close to the Rider barracks, as near as possible to the envoys' wing. "By the way, at least one of the horses is yours. Ten destriers. Father says that each is worth at least a few hundred gold nobles. And this." He placed a wriggling brindled bundle with huge paws onto the Council table. "There are ten of these, too." He commented as the not-so-small puppy climbed into Kally's lap. 

The rest of the Council, who, apparently, had been making small talk with the Imperials, then entered and took their places. Some held similar wriggling bundles to the one in Kally's lap, some unsure of what to do with them, Lord Wyldon looking as though the gods had dumped a treasured gift in his lap. Daine the wildmage, looking as though there was something she was holding back with difficulty started as soon as the door had closed and the last – Duke Gareth of Naxen – had taken their seats. 

"At least half of them are wildmages. Including both the Prince and Princess, and the five who stayed from the first delegation. We knew four of them had the Gift, but it didn't even occur to me to see if they had wild magic." 

"How much?" the King asked quickly, "as much as, well, you?" 

Daine shook her head. "Most have a trace – about enough to communicate, to sense almost. A few should be able to actually speak, even fewer could possibly shapechange. The Prince and Princess, I have to say it, are in the last category. At the same time, though" she held up a hand as half the Council got up to shout, "there are unfamiliar aspects. There may be several different types of wild magic – weather, earth and such – that we don't have here." 

The Council exploded into shock. Well, almost all. Kalasin sat in the chair that she had been granted for discussions that involved the Imperials, stroking the puppy, and praying.   
  


By themselves, each of the thin gauze dresses, purple and red, were transparent. Worn one on top of the other, though, they gave a ghostly outline of the body underneath. Berenice looked at herself critically in the mirror as she pinned her hair up under her circlet. There were opals sewn into the hems of both dresses so they would not fly up in the wind. She sighed. It had been a very long time since she had worn anything other than riding leathers or half-armour, much less this finery. She planned to divert attention away from her brother, so that he could have the leisure to make the acquaintance of Princess Kalasin, without the Court gossips. She swore as her hair fought its way out of the pins. She hoped that it would be worth it.   


He was already in the Crystal Room, speaking with her parents. Kalasin hovered around the door as some of her mother's ladies fluttered about her dress and hair. They were ordinary ladies-in-waiting, not the Queen's Ladies – who were a lot more fun to be around, frankly. His back was to the door, but Kalasin could see that he was dressed elegantly in dark grey velvet, silver band around his pale hair. She took a deep breath and entered the room, aware that there was an almost immediate silence. 

He turned around. 

He was a good-deal better-looking in the flesh than he was in the scrying bowl, Kally decided, as she saw dark eyes that contrasted oddly with the fair hair, skin very pale against the dark, oddly cut tunic that emphasised a strong chest and shoulders. Their eyes met, brown to blue. She didn't know what he saw in hers, but his were carefully polite and expressionless as he bowed. 

Someone must have introduced them – her parents, the Ambassador – who materialised out of thin air – but Kalasin could not recall it. She felt her hand rise of its own volition, saw him raise it to his lips, saw him offer an arm to escort her to the refreshment table. She honestly could not recall anything after that. 

Kalasin and Yevgen had relative privacy for the rest of the evening, sitting near one of the large windows, no small part due to his sister, who entered just as curious onlookers and vultures descended on them, wearing, by Tortallan standards, practically nothing except gauze and expensive jewellery. Kally caught a glimpse of Yevgen's face just before he reverted to a polite, royal mask. His smile indicated that he had expected something of the sort. 

At one point in the evening, Queen Thayet and Commander Buri came over to check on them. Kalasin thought the looks on their faces as Yevgen greeted them in K'mir was almost worth marrying him.   
  


It was well into the early hours of the morning, so both Jonathan and Thayet dismissed their valet and maid respectively, and prepared for bed themselves. Evidently, the valet and maid had other notions why the King and Queen wanted privacy and hurried off hiding smiles. 

Thayet collapsed into the bed, groaning. "Training before dawn, War Council all day, diplomatic parties until dawn. Hours like this are for the insane." 

Jonathan was grinning wickedly as he climbed in beside her. "You married me. Some say that's as much indication as anyone needs." 

"True enough," she conceded, shedding her dressing gown and throwing it across the room as she tried to get comfortable, then sighed. "What do you think of him, Jon?" she asked. 

The king turned serious. "Prince Yevgen seems pleasant enough. Very quiet." 

"He seems a bit like Roald," Thayet considered, then paused. "Did you know he speaks K'mir?" 

"No. Does he?" Jon asked, interested. 

"Yes. Quite well, in fact. Better than Kally does, in fact, though his accent is odd – almost Doi. Kally, of course, is hounding Buri for more lessons." 

Jon was quiet. "I do wish that it wasn't necessary." He grimaced. "With Scanra on the doorstep…" he shook his head, and sighed. 

Thayet didn't really approve of arranged matches on principle, but at least, she supposed, none of the new in-laws as yet had been unlikeable. Shinko was a treasure, and Yevgen was a good deal better than Barnesh of Maren, who had tried to pinch her bottom the one and only time they'd met. "At least he's the right age," she said aloud, "he's polite, doesn't pick his nose in public, and, well, as for the rest, we can only see." 

"They've proposed to hold the wedding after the Scanran campaign," Jon told her, kissing her lightly, and was not completely surprised as she pulled him down into the bed. Further discussions of the matter were put off to another, less interesting time. 

  


At least Kally was spending time with Prince Yevgen of her own volition, Jon thought as he finally found his daughter, after a great deal of searching, early the next morning. She was standing beside the prince, leaning against the fence of the field used by the Queen's Riders, watching some of the Imperial Units go through their paces, trotting out their mounts after the sea voyage. They appeared to be making small talk. Kally was dressed for riding in shirt, breeches and boots, and carried a coat over her arm. The prince was similarly dressed, and appeared to have no intention of joining in the exercises, despite the saddled destrier beside him, a magnificent bay gelding.   
  


The Countess of King's Reach, with whom Kally had spent four moderately awful years learning to be a 'lady', had curtailed almost every enjoyable activity with '_a princess doesn't_'. Originally, it had been '_a lady doesn't_ ', until she was aware of the real skills of the Queen's Ladies. Whenever Kally brought up the subject of her own mother, a princess who did do fun things like hunt bandits and fight, the Countess had always sniffed, and said something about her mother making the most of extraordinary circumstances, and made her do more embroidery. She wondered what the Countess would have thought of Princess Berenice, dressed in combat armour, mounted on a black warhorse, and snapping orders to cavalry squads to perform complicated maneuvers as though she did it every day. 

On second thought, she probably did do it every day. Kally stole a glance sideways at Yevgen, who looked calm. He had been on his way to the fields when he saw her and stopped to talk. He seemed nice enough, in a very distant, polite way. She sighed. 

Yevgen noticed. "Am I boring you, your Highness?" he asked. There was no indication of his true feelings. 

"No, no. I was just looking at your sister. She has a real gift for command. I wish I shared it." 

Yevgen smiled and bowed. "She'll be gratified to hear that." 

There was a shout and crash as one of the riders took a nasty spill, and only narrowly avoided being trampled. The princess held up a hand to stop the exercise, then dismounted herself to make sure that the rider was fine. A young man, he seemed more embarrassed than injured as he climbed back onto his dun mare and rejoined his squad. Kally noticed that Yevgen had looked at the situation, and decided it was not serious, and visibly relaxed. 

By this time the King had approached, and Yevgen was the first to turn around and bow, not in the least surprised at the appearance of Kally's father. 

"Your Majesty," 

"Your Highness. I hope that the accommodations are adequate?" 

"We are honoured by the care and attention of your Majesty," 

They continued in this bent for several more exchanges. Kally thought with a sinking heart that the prince, like her own brother, could, if he so chose, spend his entire life making such guarded and formal conversation. She was a little gratified, however, that Yevgen made an effort to include her in the conversation, though whether it was Imperial good manners or any real feelings on his part.   
  


Several mornings passed in this fashion, and more and more of the Tortallan forces who were readying to move north began to watch the Imperials train, to watch impressive precision maneuvers on horseback, and practice with a variety of weapons. The princess was the one clearly in charge, and the one all the fighters deferred to. The prince, however, though he was present at the training, never took part, preferring instead to chat with Princess Kalasin, who also turned up every morning, without fail, to watch. It was something those factions of the Court that disapproved of the marriage noticed, and there were grumblings about the kingdom being so weak it had to call a land whose men could not hold a sword (despite the fact that more than half the force was male), but nothing of significance happened. 

That is, until Sir Garvey of Runnerspring decided to be an idiot. 

The prince was explaining the concept of the Trials of Knighthood to Kalasin, who thought they sounded fairly torturous. He was stating how there were some deaths every year – usually, he said, they were not from any of the fighting components, the jousting or fencing, but most commonly drowning during the swimming races. 

Sir Garvey, just recalled from his home fief and about to head north, snorted, "You must be joking, your Highness! Either that or Imperials must be poor fighters!" he sneered, despite the evidence on the field. 

Yevgen raised his eyebrows and looked down his nose (_it's a very nice nose_ thought Kally, who then, had to take a good hard look at herself) at the shorter knight. "You are?" he asked. 

"Sir Garvey of Runnerspring." 

"Well, Sir Garvey of Runnerspring," the prince seemed more amused at Garvey's ignorance than insulted at the slight to his home, "have you ever swum a mile and a half, in full armour, against a current? You haven't? You should try it sometime. It's very invigorating." He smiled. 

If anyone looked as though they were losing their cool, it was Garvey, who seemed incensed at the prince's polite, dismissive, slightly condescending tone. By now, a crowd had gathered, and the Imperials on the field had stopped, several of them coming nearer to hear the conversation. Garvey looked as though he had never expected things to get so far, and was now backed into a corner. 

"I need no advice from those who bow to women!" it was a fairly lame argument, and Garvey knew it as soon as the words left his mouth. 

Yevgen refused to be insulted. "Of course I do. It's only polite, you know." His tone indicated that he thought Garvey was simple minded. 

Garvey flailed for a suitable retort. "Any country that loses more knights to a little stream than it does in combat has got to be pathetic on the battlefield." 

"It appears you are determined to challenge the honour of my home, are you not, Sir?" Yevgen, still polite, straightened up from the fence for the first time and walked towards Garvey. He stopped within touching distance and frowned. "Could you tell me, please, the etiquette involved in this sort of thing in Tortall? I must confess that it's not the thing I studied coming here. Is it a strike to the cheek, or is it done in the Imperial manner? No matter, since I'm the one issuing the challenge to a duel." 

No one quite saw the prince's next movements. What was certain, however, that Garvey ended up on the other side of the fence, narrowly missing Princess Berenice's destrier, who stepped aside for him, and with a rumpled shirt front. Yevgen was dusting his hands as he moved towards the fence. "As challenged, you have choice of weapons." 

Garvey, who was stupid, but stubborn, muttered something. 

"Splendid, my favourite. Carl," he turned to a nearby Imperial, "could you fetch my longsword please? Your highness," he bowed to Kalasin, "is there a specific place for this sort of thing? I admit that I cannot accurately recall the plans of this most magnificent Palace." 

He turned back to Garvey, who was picking himself up, having waved off help offered from various Imperials, "First blood. It would be dreadfully rude to my host to make a mess on his floor, not to mention one of his knights, when he seems in such need of them."   


An out-of breath Owen of Jesslaw (he really wondered about the wisdom about accepting Lord Wyldon's offer sometimes. Yes, hunting bandits every summer was jolly, but it meant that he spent the rest of the year running errands and being shunted off to desk knights) stormed into the Council Chamber. 

"Sirs, Ladies, please, come. Garvey of Runnerspring's managed to insult the prince into issuing a challenge." 

The response was immediate. The room emptied, and Owen had to step aside quickly to avoid being run down. Only Sir Gareth the Younger had the presence of mind to check in mid step, grab his papers, and lock the door before hurrying down to the largest of the indoor fencing courts.   


Alanna was having the strangest case of déjà vu as they made their way down the steps. It was over a quarter of a century since her famous bout against Dain of Melor from Tusaine, but the courts were still the same –the walls had been repainted, and floor redone, but it was still the same court. 

However, if their previous look at Imperial standards, and her own observations of Garvey of Runnerspring was anything to go by, the result would be very different. 

Kally met them at the entrance. 

"Garvey was being an idiot. He came up to us and went completely out of his way to insult the Imperials," she said as she accompanied her parents, and other members of the Council down to the seats. "Yevgen was the one who tried to be reasonable but Garvey left him no choice." 

Thayet raised an eyebrow "_Yevgen_?" 

Kalasin blushed. "_His Highness_" she corrected. 

Garvey was doing his stretching exercises with a dazed look on his face. His friends, those that were still at court, crowded around him. Prince Yevgen waited a little before beginning his. He was certainly a lot more flexible than Garvey, as most of his stretches could have done a contortionist proud. He then began a series of tumbles that would have had an acrobat green with envy, especially considering his six-foot frame. 

King Jonathan approached the prince, but Yevgen made it clear that no, he did not hold Tortallan chivalry in general in any sort of doubt, but that this was a personal matter between Sir Garvey and himself. A philosophical difference of opinion. The King then spoke to Garvey in a tone that indicated that he was in serious trouble. 

By this time the court was almost overflowing with spectators. While they had seen the quick jousting matches between Imperials and Tortallans, and a few practice bouts with the first delegation, this was the first chance to see a full display of skill. 

Carl trotted down the steps to the court with the prince's sword. 

Even from the distance between the two duelists and the spectators, it was apparent that Imperial weaponry, at least, was at least as advanced as that of the Eastern Lands. The prince's weapon shone with the gleam of the finest quality steel, forged to perfection, and from the way his sister touched the blade then reached for a handkerchief before giving it to him, sharpened to a razor's edge. 

At length, though the clusters around prince and knight sat at the edges, the princess folding long legs under her and sitting in front of the first bench with Kally, Roald and Shinko, who had just arrived. Berenice was still in full armour. 

Alanna felt that she was fifteen again, facing a taller, heavier, arrogant, slightly drunk opponent. This time, however, she was the spectator. This time, it was not Jon's father who made the announcements as the two fighters bowed, but Jon himself. Jon, sounding very, very displeased with his knight. 

The prince was taller, but Garvey was heavier, they stood, two sword-lengths apart, waiting. Garvey, as she had expected, lost nerve first, and lunged. He was easily parried. 

Alanna continued to watch, looking for the little movements of muscle in shoulder and chest that indicated a fighter's next move. Garvey's were clear, plain even to a non-fighter. Her eyes widened as she noticed that the prince fought with no signals whatsoever, not even in his most complicated moves. Alanna had known only a few who fought without signals – and two were dead. She turned to the nearest. 

"Your grace," she said quietly to her old training master, "have you noticed the prince?" 

"I have," Gary's father, despite his need for a cane, still had the eyes of a hawk, "he's holding back. He could have wiped the floor with young Runnerspring in the first pass, but he's stretching it out. Defensive, not offensive. It's making Runnerspring nervous." 

Garvey was sweating buckets, but the prince looked barely concerned. He could have been discussing the weather. 

Evidently, the prince grew bored of toying with the Tortallan, as Garvey's sword went flying into the far side of the court, and the prince's sword was presented at his throat. Garvey stepped back and slipped in a patch of sweat, landing with an undignified thud, sword still at his throat. 

Someone giggled. 

Garvey swallowed as the prince kept holding the sword at his throat. It was not an easy task. 

"I apologise for whatever remarks I may have said that caused you offence," he managed to croak out eventually," 

The prince cocked an eyebrow, but withdrew the blade, saluted, bowed, and walked back to his end of the court. 

Most of the Tortallans were focused on Garvey, mainly telling him what an idiot he had been. Only Kalasin happened to be looking at the opposite end of the court. 

The prince was lying on the polished wood floor, face contorted in pain. Several of the Imperials were clustered around him. Kally was just about to go and ask what the matter was when the aide – Radanae, that was her name – stood up and said something in a language that Kally didn't understand, but from the tone was certainly not 'Have a nice day.' 

"Carl, get a healer – and hurry!" she yelled to the young man who had brought the prince's sword. 

The princess, meanwhile, had her hands on a section of her brother's midsection – in the middle of his ribcage. The Tortallans were turning their attention away from their defeated knight to the more romantic image of the injured victor. 

"You've definitely aggravated them again. One of them is completely out of whack. How many times have I got to tell you not to do the party tricks when you're injured?" 

Duke Baird, chief of the Tortallan healers, approached. "Your highness, if you will permit, I am a healer of some note…" the princess exchanged glances with her brother, then moved away. 

The prince gasped as light fused under the Duke's hands, then sat up. "Thank you, sir," he managed, then staggered to his feet.   
  


"Of course, the fact that he's probably been travelling with barely healed ribs with nothing more than a few painkillers for weeks is worrying enough. Though, I guess, they may be like Shang and Yamani and only use healers in dire situations. What's more worrying is that he probably injured himself during his warm up rather than the bout itself and fought with a cracked rib digging into the muscle. Aside from that, sir," he bowed to the king, "in case you're wondering, he's a perfectly healthy and…umm…_fit_…young man." Duke Baird finished his report to the Council after the fight. 

"Great," Gary tallied a few notes in front of him, "putting everyone's information together, we have a nation that has an exceeding large number of Yamani-stoic, Shang-standard knights with University degrees and wild magic, not to mention the Gift, and prepared to lend a large number of those self-same knights to help us fight Scanra. Am I the only one who thinks that a few bolts of silk, a nice sable or two, and pepper isn't really what they want in return?"   



	8. To the North

Tortall8 Note: I'm not sure if Neal is Baird's only son now, but if he's not, can someone please tell me? I can only remember that he has a sister and that his knighted brothers all got killed. 

Chapter 8 – To the North 

Kally paced her room, trying reconcile the pleasant, polite young man she had known for the past few days, with the young man they'd seen in the scrying bowl – indifferent, resigned to his fate, and, in the last, very much in love – with someone else. 

Then the news that he was probably, like Daine, able to turn himself into any animal he chose any time he chose. Then today, when she had discovered that he was a magnificent swordsman – as good as Lady Alanna had been in her prime – and equally impervious to physical pain or crude insults. 

His calm, even temperament intimidated as much as it reassured her. Yes, he was a good deal more refined, a good deal more polite than many of the other candidates were, but what was he like under the veneer of impeccable manners? The temperaments of the Scanran, the Tusaine, the Gallan nobles, and, of course Emperor Kaddar, were far easier to judge. Even their spying on him had shown that he was usually polite. 

A knock at the door heralded the entrance of her mother, and Kally knew that those questions weren't going to be answered any time soon.   
  
  


"Right. So they have at least one bloody good healer," Dama Kjerstina Sebastia, who was the highest-ranking medic in the Imperial forces, finished going over Yevgen in minute detail and let him get up off the couch in his rooms. 

Feeling poked, prodded, and thoroughly violated, Yevgen sat up with a scowl and reached for his shirt. "I told you that it was fine. All I felt was the ribs going cold, and then stop hurting." 

"You should have told me that they were cracked," she lectured, "you know I can't give full examinations to everyone every day, it would make things a good deal easier if you lot actually told me you were injured. You do not all have to be bloody stoics, you know!" 

Kay hid a smile behind her hand. Kjerstina took her responsibilities as chief healer in this force very seriously – at thirty, she was unusually young to take charge, and, like most of the members of the party, stood to gain a great deal from this assignment. With thousands of personnel, it was often difficult to gain the attention of the higher command without a prominent mission such as this – which had the personal attention of the Empress and Crown Heir. 

She was also the only one in the entire party with the classical healing Gift – it was as rare as any of the other, older magics now. There were about twenty or thirty in the party who had the same ability with animals, and, could, at a pinch, treat humans, though neither they nor their patients particularly enjoyed the experience. 

With healing-magic so rare, it was usually only used in life-threatening situations, most things being treated conventionally, whether with surgery, splints, or herbs. Not even Yevgen had managed to merit a Gifted healer after his two broken legs and broken ribs at his Trials until the healers had done all they could for the more serious injuries – which, in one case, was to give them a fatal dose of sleepflower. Even then, exhausted as they were, the healers were able to do no more than to 'speed up' his body's natural healing processes and drug him half-senseless to stop him screaming in agony so that the public could see that there were still three reasonably healthy Imperial children. 

Tortallan healers could take care of minor injuries – bruises, colds – as a touch. There were also a great many more of them than in the Empire, even taking into account the difference in size– minor healers, hedgewitches or midwives – were present in almost every village and hamlet. Even the smallest healing-Gift, these days, in the Empire, was so rare that any such Gifted individual would find themselves besieged with scholarships to study at the Imperial University, or the various vocational schools, and offers from religious orders, private hospices, the military, and even various guilds and wealthy individuals. Not a few of the healers that had started life in abject poverty now had children or grandchildren in the Knights' Academy, such was the demand, status and rewards for Imperial healers. 

The news that Princess Kalasin herself was an extremely powerful, and fully trained healer had only confirmed that the alliance with Tortall was going to be very beneficial. If only Yevgen was a bit more enthusiastic about it, Kay thought. At least, she supposed, he was talking to her of his own free will.   
  


"He seems pleasant enough," Kally toyed with the glass of grape juice in her hand. 

Thayet thought that Kally sounded as though someone was pulling her teeth out, but said nothing. 

"The Imperials have proposed to delay the wedding until after the Scanran campaign. The prince and the other Imperials are joining the initial force going north with Roald." 

Crown Prince Roald was technically in command of the initial troops heading north to bolster the northern armies, Own, and Riders fighting in the Grimhold Mountains. However, as it was his first command, it was an open secret that the real orders would come from the existing generals and commanders, or Lady Alanna, who would head north as her godson's adviser. 

Should it become necessary (and they all hoped that it would not), the King himself would lead additional forces north, with the Queen and Crown Princess remaining behind to govern the realm. 

As Kalasin would remain behind, only she wouldn't have anything even half so remotely interesting to do. 

Kally didn't bother to hide her relief at the requested delay. Another day before her fate was sealed was one more day of freedom. Well, comparatively, at least.   
  


Daine had been trying to get information from the Imperial animals for several days. They, at least knew her for what she was, and were polite to her, but did not give her any useful information on their human companions. The Imperials had their destriers, of course – huge, war-trained animals as close-mouthed and serious as any human warriors, and equally massive mastiffs, equally disciplined. The smaller hounds or terriers, trained to track the enemy, were more talkative, but more inclined to ask questions then answer them. The Imperials also had several large birds of prey, but they, too, while as polite as raptors ever were, did not give her any useful information. As Daine was far from the first wildmage they had seen, they did not treat her as most other People did. At least, though, Daine thought after her umpteenth civil nothing-conversation, Imperials did treat their animals well. All the knights, from the prince and princess down, cared for their animals as they would another human. There were more animal healers in the party than human medics. 

She was discussing just that fact with a small party – that included Sir Myles, Princess Kalasin (who was around an awful lot these days), Sir Gareth the Younger, and several others on a small balcony near the stables when they overheard a far more informative conversation. 

It was Prince Yevgen, who walked beside the large bay destrier Kally now knew was called Everglade, and apparently having a conversation with thin air. Well, that was what it seemed to all but Daine, who could hear both sides of the conversation between knight and horse, and Daine was more concerned with listening to the conversation than relaying it to the others.. 

"It'll be like the Great Barrier – so we'll have to get the ice-shoes out." 

Some snorting from the horse. 

"I know they're uncomfortable. You spent all of last year telling me that. However, it's got to be better than sliding down a bottomless crevice, don't you think?" 

The horse had a serious expression on his face as he nudged his rider. 

"Yes, but it can't be helped. You know the reasons as well as I do. Yes, I know that it's because I've been moaning to you all spring and summer. She's what? Oh, yes, Radanae did tell me. She's a year younger than me. Nineteen. No, it's not, humans age differently from horses, remember?" 

Another pause, as though he was listening. 

"I don't know," he said, at length, "she is intelligent, I guess. Polite, at least. Pretty? Very. I won't dispute that. No, I don't see how that's an issue. It's not as though I'll ever see Lara again. Ris was very clear about it, even if she didn't come straight out and say it." 

There was an abrupt pause, and the Tortallans turned to Daine, who looked very shocked. 

"That's a very rude joke, even by horse standards," Daine coughed, turning red. 

Below them, the prince was saying "Well I never! That's practically obscene, and I don't see how it's any of your business!" man and horse moved off. 

Kally turned to Daine curiously, then, curiosity overcoming her feelings of stupidity, asked, "What did the horse say?" 

Daine, uncharacteristically enough, looked prim, "It doesn't translate well," she said, at last, "suffice to say, it's about the difference between geldings and stallions. Everglade, as you've noticed, is a gelding and…well…the prince…isn't. It's very rude." She repeated. 

Kally decided she didn't want to know about horse standards of taste.   
  


They rode out several mornings later, the Imperials (basically all of them save the Ambassador and her personal aide) riding side by side with the Tortallans north on Trebond Way, their troop-carrying ships helping to ferry supplies. 

Kalasin, watching them leave, had mixed feelings. On one hand, marriage, especially marriage too a stranger, even a perfectly polite, young, handsome (that, at least, she had to admit) stranger was not something to look forward to. On the other, she knew that the only way she was going to avoid it was if he was killed. And, as little as she knew him, she knew, at least, that she didn't want him dead. 

What, of course, she would have preferred, was that he remained in the Empire, and was happy, perhaps with the mysterious 'Lara' he seemed to love so much, and who his family approved of and favored, and out of Kalasin's life. It was an impossibility, she knew. Like her, he was a child of a royal house, and the price they paid for their privileges was obedience to the wishes of others. Unlike her, however, Kally thought with gritted teeth, he was obeying them without question, and would no more defy them than he would defy the gods.   
  
  


Mindelan fell before Roald's force could reach it. The Own and the Riders had been lured away to deal with a Scanran advance on another sector, fooled by the apparent quiet of the troops laying siege on Mindelan. 

It had been nothing more than a diversionary tactic, for, as soon as the Own and the Riders were far enough away that they could not return easily, Scanrans attacked and overran the mountain stronghold in force, slaughtering all inside. At court, Baron Piers and Baroness Ilane, who had to be ordered to stay there by the King, were in despair for their eldest son and his wife, and the people of their fief. The only consolation was that their grandchildren had not been at the castle, instead kept at their various schools as soon as news of the siege had reached Corus. 

Kally wondered how Keladry, one of the knights in Roald's personal unit, would react to the news once she found out.   
  


It was not easy for Roald to tell his friend about her home, or her brother. The only consolation was that the rest of the family was safe – right now, other commanders were giving the bad news to Sir Inness and Sir Conal, both serving in other units along the northern border. He wondered if they felt the same way. 

He had wanted to tell her as soon as the messenger pigeon had reached them, as soon as he had unwrapped the tiny slip of the paper, but his future brother-in-law, riding beside him, had advised against it. Yevgen, it turned out, had done a similar sort of thing before. As a junior officer, he'd had to inform friends and families of deaths and injuries to their loved ones, and he felt that it was always better to tell them in a more private environment, be it home or a tent, rather than in the open. It was especially important, he'd said, with proud people like knights, who didn't want too many witnesses should they get upset. Lady Alanna, on Roald's other side, had nodded in agreement. 

Roald thought Yevgen was a good sort – not quite good enough for Kally, of course – but certainly a better option than most others his parents were considering, and took his advice. Despite being less outspoken then Princess Berenice (and the princess, these days, seemed to be making an active effort to seem no more than a military commander, leaving most of the diplomacy to her brother), he gave good advice when it was requested of him. 

He waited until after camp had been set up before sending for Keladry, making sure that there were as few people in the tent as possible. Yevgen and Berenice, though they were technically Roald's equals, both socially, and militaristically, politely vanished to 'take care of their horses'. Besides Roald, there was only Lady Alanna and the elderly Duke Baird, who would again set up the field hospitals. It would be, he said, his last campaign. If there was ever the great misfortune of another war, it would be his youngest and now only son, the healer-knight Sir Nealan who would take charge of the grisly remains of war. 

Roald, after much pacing and soul-searching, decided that the direct approach was best. His father had told him that informing the relatives was a part of being a commander, but Roald had not thought it would come so soon, nor with a person he knew so well. 

Kel had known something was wrong from the too-polite note that Roald had sent as soon as they had settled in at the camp. Though Roald's manners were impeccable no matter what the circumstances, the note was painfully civil even for him. She didn't have to wait long, however. She was ushered into the tent, had tea pushed into her hand, then Roald, looking distressed, had told her about Anders, about Tilaine, about Mindelan, and every living creature that had once called it home. Even her old pony, now retired to pasture. The cats she had rescued from drowning. Everyone and everything. Gone. 

She didn't remember leaving Roald's command tent, didn't remember walking through the camp, ignoring her old friends, whether they offered comfort or curiosity, only remembered sitting on the rocky bank of the stream. 

She didn't know how long she had been there, crying without tears, until she felt someone lightly sit down beside her. She started, then relaxed, recognizing the Imperial knight, Justinia, even though the other woman's dark skin, dark curly hair, and dark-lacquered combat armour made her little more than a mere outline in the night. 

Justinia was holding out a cloth and a canteen. "Drink," she said, "it's just honeyed water with herbs and spices. We're not allowed alcohol on campaign, but this gives a good approximation." 

Kel obediently took a gulp, then gasped as the liquid burned her nasal passages, coughing into the cloth provided. 

"I'm very sorry about your home," the other knight said, at length, "was it very beautiful?" 

"If you like mountains and rocks, yes," Kel said, "but I haven't spent much time there. I spent six years in the Yamani Empire when my father was ambassador, then I went straight to the Palace as soon as we returned. Mindelan wasn't really land, except as another part of the realm, another mountain fief. Mindelan was people. Anders…he was always kind to me. He tried to give me advice about becoming a knight, and I gave the same advice to his son…oh gods…it was only the year before last. Tilaine…well, she might have called me a cow, but surely…Why?" 

Even in the dark, Kel could see Justinia shrug. "Why anything? I remember when my father was killed. I blamed my mother, if you can believe it. I thought she should have been a proper noble, a proper married female knight (which she's not by the way – a knight, that is) with her child already in the Academy, fighting alongside her husband, helping him. Instead, she'd renounced her House titles, her position as scion to one of the greatest Houses…to be a barrister…well…now I understand. She was in the capital, co-ordinating the intelligence that saved many more lives. When I became a knight, I went back to the same province my father was killed in. I helped put down that rebellion for good." She flung a stone into the stream. 

"I don't know how I should feel," Kel confessed, after a period of silence, "shock, mainly, but I know that a knight can't indulge in that sort of thing for long. I'm angry, too, that so many people should have died, that someone lured away those troops who could have stopped it, that those troops let themselves be fooled." She sighed, and flung a pebble into the stream, letting it skip. "But I don't see what revenge will do. We can kill all the Scanrans we like, we can push them back so far into their territory that they'll freeze outside at noon in the summertime, but none of that will bring Anders back." 

"You're right, revenge isn't the answer," Justinia said seriously, "but while we are waiting for the answer, we need to get these invaders out of your home, and make sure they don't kill any more of your people. Agreed?" 

Kel nodded. 

Justinia must have seen, for then she said in a brighter tone, "Now, the other reason I came to see you – we're having a competition, Imperials and Tortallans, to see who can come up with the soppiest love song. Coming?" she stood, and held out a hand to help Kel to her feet. 

They returned to the camp just as Merric started some piece of tripe about waiting for his lady in an enchanted circle for fifteen years (it seemed to take him fifteen years to sing it). In all the ridiculous hand wringing, the bad rhyming and worse prose, the giggling, the howls of laughter, and the backslapping between Imperial and Tortallan, Kel let herself, just for one moment, forget her pain.   


It seemed no question that the King would now need to lead a further force north, and preparations took on an accelerated speed in the capital, while mages worked around the clock to ensure that there would be adequate communication devices – whether mirrors or scrying bowls. While news that the combined force of the Crown Prince and the Imperials had retaken Mindelan was welcome, intelligence, from both Tortall and the Imperials, indicated that more Scanrans were coming over the mountains. 

The King, and most of the available knights left as soon as possible, leaving only a small force to guard the capital. Queen Thayet and Crown Princess Shinkokami had their hands full running the everyday concerns of the realm. 

Perhaps, then, it was excusable that they didn't notice the absence of one young woman for several days.   
  


_This is not the most intelligent thing I've ever done,_ thought Kally ruefully as she pounded up the rocky path north, _there are those with far more training than me already up there, and it won't change anything. Yevgen…**the prince**,_ she corrected, _is hardly going to be appalled at the idea of women in combat. But this is something I have to do. It's my home, and it may be the one and only time I can defend it._

If she thought that it was the perfect opportunity to 'disappear', she did not bring it to her consciousness. 

She was dressed in the uniform, such as it was, of a Rider, reasoning that no one would question her presence, assuming she was either a courier or an advance scout. It had been easy, among the confusion, to get hold of a uniform, of weapons, and to take the two best unclaimed ponies, and follow the troops north along less-used paths. 

It did not take long to reach the Grimhold Mountains. The ponies were fast and tireless, and she changed between them regularly, so their wind was unbroken. Her Gift allowed her to keep track of the forces of her father and her brother, and, more importantly, concealed her presence from them. 

There was a mountain stream bubbling, and both ponies looked at her. Even without wild magic, their request was clear, and Kally tethered them both near the stream, allowing them to forage for what little grass there was while they drank. She was more than ready for a drink and a wash too, so taking her water flask a little upstream from the ponies, she refilled it. 

She caught a glimpse out of the corner of her eye, and had just realized that she was in the worst possible position to fend off an attack when a strong arm grabbed her and rendered her immobile. A knife appeared at her throat, just as a male voice said, "Don't move…or I'll gut you right here and now."   



	9. Hello Again

Tortall9 Chapter 9 – Hello Again 

"Let go of me," she choked out. The arm stiffened in surprise, and the knife moved fractionally, before he shoved her away. 

"Your Highness?" he said, as though he couldn't quite believe it. "Princess Kalasin? What are you doing here?" 

It was, of course, Prince Yevgen. Of all the people to catch me, Kally thought miserably, it's him. He was not dressed as she had seen him before, in riding clothes, or armour, or court finery. Instead, he was in muted colours of green, grey and brown, perfectly suited to blending into the mountains, lace-up climbing boots, carried a knapsack, and short recurve bow. The knife disappeared up his sleeve. 

He was waiting, his face polite but expressionless. 

Kally put her chin up, "I'm watering my ponies," she said, at last. 

He raised an eyebrow as both ponies approached, nuzzling Kally to make sure she was all right. Kally felt distinctly left out of the conversation as they spoke to the young man instead, while he 'hummed' and 'ah-haed'. 

"Is that so?" he said, at length. "They think you're being very silly," he told her, just a bit smugly. "There're Scanran irregulars all over these mountains. It's only luck that none of them have found you – they do have wizards, you know. That's why I'm out here," he explained. "The main camp is too visible – we're sitting ducks for their raiding parties, so nearly everyone with a talent has peeled off to scout." 

"Talent?" Kally asked warily. He didn't _seem_ upset at her appearance. 

"You would call it 'wild magic' I think," he said thoughtfully. "It's rarer, here in the west than it is in the Empire, so the Scanrans aren't looking for it the way their wizards are scanning for the Gifted." 

Kally, remembering the large amounts of magical energy she'd used to shield herself, blanched. 

"Ah, you did that too?" raised eyebrows again – they were darker than his hair, a light brown like his eyelashes. "Now, what are you doing here, your Highness? I was under the impression that your Highness was neither knight nor a member of her Majesty's personal unit, which, I understand, are the only two combat positions open to Tortallan noblewomen. Do their Majesties know that you're here?" 

"No, they don't." 

"And are you given to heading straight into battle zones?" he was a little more relaxed, even slightly teasing. 

"No. It's the first time. Since it's my last, time, I thought I might as well see what it's like." The last slipped out without her noticing until it was too late. 

"That, too? I comprehend completely." 

Kally was surprised. "You do?" 

"Of course." He shrugged. "Most women I know would do the same in your position. Hells, _I_ would do the same. Your highness, you don't really need to spare me. If he's in the Own, I'm afraid they're further north with Lord Raoul, chasing the survivors fleeing back to Scanra. The Riders are scattered all over the place. However, if he's a knight, they're all quartered in the main camp near Mindelan, waiting for the scout reports." 

Kally didn't quite understand what he was getting at until he listed the locations of each of the units. She wasn't sure to be insulted at his assumption she was going to see a lover, or his indifference about the existence of said lover. "Oh no," she gasped, "nothing like that. I've known since I was nine or ten that I wouldn't get any say in my life. One doesn't form those sorts of attachments to anyone else in those circumstances." 

"I imagine not." He had his arms crossed. "They didn't tell me until early this spring," he said abruptly, uncharacteristically blunt. "I can't really think which is worse, knowing for half your life, or having it sprung upon you suddenly." 

Kally was about to say something, but a noise at the end of the little gorge caught both their attentions. A small group of men – no more than a squad or so – but mounted, and dressed in the furs and leathers that marked them as Scanran – moved into the stream. They caught sight of the ponies, then the young man and woman. Screaming battle cries, they charged over the rocks. 

"Damn!" Yevgen exploded, and shoved Kally behind him reflexively, stringing the short bow. "Can you shoot?" he asked, then nodded as she strung her longbow. "I'm sorry, I know it'll be uncomfortable, but I'll have to send to ponies back to camp – and tell your father and brother you're here." 

At this point, being alive and having to make those uncomfortable explanations, no matter how awkward, was infinitely preferable to being unable to make those explanations at all. 

They shot arrows into the knot of Scanrans, some falling, some continuing to charge, as Yevgen must have told the ponies the location of the camp as they scrambled in the opposite direction. "The camp's not far if they take the short-cut," he told Kally, loosing another arrow – he was a very good shot, as she had expected, and he seemed impressed with her skill. "But they won't be able to make it if we're riding them," he explained. 

They were swiftly running out of arrows – and the raiders continued to come. They'd all been unhorsed – whether through the arrows or Yevgen speaking directly to their mounts – which at least was a small blessing. Kally had no other weapons except her knife, so Yevgen produced a pair of the long bladed daggers similar to the ones Kally had seen Dama Justinia use, and handed her one. "It can be used as a knife or a shortsword," he shouted as he engaged two of the three remaining raiders. Kally took the other. 

At length, they were finished. Yevgen wrinkled his nose slightly as he pulled his dagger out of one raider, shaking it to get the lice off. He grinned, slightly. "They're considered a bit girly, so most male knights don't use these," he told her, accepting the other dagger and wiping both of them, "but I find that they're useful in these situations – more versatile and more reach than a knife, but not as clumsy to carry or conceal as a proper sword." He didn't seem perturbed at the ten or so men lying in the riverbed, dotted with arrows, bleeding into the once-pristine mountain stream. 

Kally, however, once the rush of the battle wore off, looked at the carnage that marred the pleasant little gorge, and was sick to the stomach. She hadn't eaten much that day, but what little she did came up. Her vision cleared to the prince offering her a canteen and a rag. "Lots of knights do that after a fight," he told her. "Radanae – one of my year-mates, the Ambassador's personal aide – does so every single time without fail. That's one of the reasons that the Department of Foreign Relations dragged her off combat duties – even though she's a bloody nasty fighter as well as smart enough for two of anyone else - the minute her compulsory service was up." His eyes went unfocused for a second. "The ponies are through. Meanwhile, your Highness, we'll have to find someplace a little less exposed and get that slash in your arm taken care of." 

Kally hadn't even noticed the long gash in her arm until he mentioned it, and turned to see blood seeping th   
rough the rough linen. It seemed barely seconds after that that her vision grew grey, then black.   
  
  


When the first message arrived, the King's roar of fury could be heard clear across the camp. Kel, who was now quartered with the female Imperial knights (due to a shortage of tents, and the still-lingering impropriety of her sharing with an inevitably male Tortallan knight. Lady Alanna, like the other senior commanders, had a broom closet of a room (in fact, it probably _was_ a broom closet) in what had once been Mindelan itself. Kel could not bear to go to the keep.), heard it even as she tided up around the cramped tent. 

"Your King has certainly got a better bellow than the Empress," Justinia remarked matter-of-factly, as though she heard monarchs bellow every day. "She always has trouble not screeching when she raises her voice." The other knight was folded up on her cot, cleaning a breastplate. Seeing Imperial combat arms up close for the first time, Kel noticed that there were subtle differences between the gear of male and female knights, and made note to mention them to her armourers. With the increasing numbers of female knights who would, she hoped, pass through the palace in the next decade or so, one armoury or another would like to corner the market in such a lucrative area. 

There was barely enough room in the tent for Kel and Justinia to both stand up at the same time, and they had to move weapons and armour in order to get out the flap, but they managed. Kel's consolation was that it was far nearer to the women's latrines from the section of the camp assigned to the Imperials than it was from her Tortallan friends, for the very obvious reason that most of the female troops were Imperials. There were female Riders, but they seemed to use the camp as little more than a place to sleep and eat occasionally before they went out scouting again. 

The Imperials, too, had sent out their scouts – all the ones with moderate to strong 'talents' – their name for wild magic. They included, to Kel's great surprise, the Prince himself. The Princess went sometimes, too, but she was more often conferring with the King, Roald, Lady Alanna or the other commanders as to alternative plans of action.   
  


"She's missing?" King Jonathan shouted into the scrying mirror for the eleventh time, "How does a princess go missing in a guarded palace, I'd like to know? Where were her guards? Who took her? Have there been any demands?" 

"Yes, I don't know, obviously not doing their job, we don't know, and no." Queen Thayet, looking haggard and drawn, answered all the questions at once. "No signs of a struggle, nothing out of place, nobody noticed anything suspicious, until Onua found two Rider ponies missing and wondered if Kally saw anything – since she's around the Rider fields so much." 

"Blast!" the king looked as though he wanted to say something worse, but with two women in the room – even if one was Alanna – he could not. 

He was interrupted by Daine, or, at least a crow that turned into Daine, and two ponies who shoved the guards aside. It took Daine a moment to catch her breath. 

"Scanran…irregulars…two valleys over, in a gorge. The two," she meant the ponies, "came up with Kally, and then they ran into Prince Yevgen, and then they were hit by a squad or so of Scanrans, and the prince told them to go and bring the news here." 

"Blast!" the king repeated, understanding what had _really _happened to Kalasin, "Of all the times she chooses…never mind…get my personal units, and all the Own and Riders in any shape to come. Kally, girl, if the Scanrans didn't get you I'll wring your neck myself."   
  
  


It was dark when Kally's vision finally cleared. Her arm was cleaned and bandaged, and there was a fire crackling in the early evening chill. The prince was at her side within moments. 

"Are you all right?" he asked anxiously, "Your highness, I've got messages from Daine the wildmage – your father and brother are coming." 

"I think, in these circumstances, titles are a bit silly," Kally groaned, sitting up, "it's Kally, anyway." 

He bowed slightly, "In that case – I am Yevgen. I don't have a nickname – none, at least, that I like anyone calling me. I'll have to remind Kay not to tell you what she and Rislyn dubbed me when we were small." 

"Are you close to your sisters?" Kally wanted to know. 

"Kay – Berenice – is my twin, so yes. She's the elder, by the way. Rislyn – not so much. Ris is very conscious about being the next Empress." He sighed, and put a few more twigs on the fire. He appeared to be in the process of cleaning his daggers properly. It was then that Kally noticed that the small enameled discs set into each pommel were not the arms of the Imperial family, nor his personal arms. Those, ironically enough, were a silver sword and crown on blue, and bordered with the intricate purple and red design that indicated the year he'd graduated from the Knights' Academy. The design of the disks was of green leaves on black, with the same purple and red year-border. He caught her looking at them. "These aren't mine," he explained, "most male knights who do use these have plain ones. These are given to the women when they're knighted, while the men get rapiers. These were a gift to me from…a friend." The slight hesitation made Kally think that the 'friend' must have been the mysterious 'Lara'. 

"A good friend?" she probed gently. 

"Very." He said firmly. "A year-mate. We were…good friends." He repeated. 

"I'm sorry," Kally said, after a pause. 

He looked at her sharply, then realized that she had guessed. "No matter." 

There was noise of scores of hooves, and Kally realized that they were perched some thirty or forty feet up the sheer cliff face, in a little sheltered alcove. Yevgen put out the fire, then leaned out to investigate, every muscle tensed. He relaxed after determining who it was. 

"It's your father," he said quietly then stepped out to signal.   
  


It was Kay who pointed up one side of the sheer gorge. They had passed the bodies of a squad of Scanran irregulars, and several broken arrows, but there had been no sign of either prince or princess. On one side of the sheer cliff face, an outline was just barely visible, waving a white rag that might have once been a scarf. 

A swift hand signal brought tens of torches to life, as they managed to see the prince there, perched on a ledge. Kay frowned as though concentrating. "He's coming down now with her Highness," she told Jon, who was somewhere between fury and relief. "She's been wounded, but it looks like mainly shock and loss of blood."   
  
  
  


"How are we going to get down?" Kally glanced down at the ring of torches below. While she had a head for heights, she had no idea how they were going to descend the slippery rock. "For that matter, how did you get me up here?" 

Yevgen was a little further away securing something to a heavy rock formation, and testing it. He stood up, and appeared to be tying a rope to a stout harness around his waist, hips, and thighs. "I carried you," he said simply, "I've done more difficult ones. It's easier down than up," he said reassuringly. "Just hold on."   
  


Kel was not the only one to gasp as the prince descended the cliff face, apparently dangling by a rope, with Princess Kalasin hanging on for dear life. It took only a few seconds, and apparently only a few springs from the cliff, but it was longer than any of the Tortallans wanted to face. Yevgen appeared to have more difficulty disengaging the princess's death-grip around his neck than he had stepping out into empty space. 

Kally passed out at the foot of the cliff. The Imperials, meanwhile, swarmed around their prince, helping him out of the harness, pulling the rope down from the rock he'd anchored it to. Kel shuddered as she saw the rope easily loosen and fall to the ground with a few tugs. She knew there had to be a trick to it, but she really didn't want to know. 

Everglade shoved through the crowd to reassure himself that his rider was all right, and the prince responded by throwing rope and knapsack across his destrier's back and pulling himself up as well. He was far more exhausted than his neutral exterior showed, thought Kel, like a Yamani. 

Kally recovered somewhat, and a spare horse was brought to her. She met the worried and furious eyes of father and brother, and stared back resolutely. Jon gave the tiniest of nods that said _later_, then ordered them back to camp. 

"It appears that abseiling is new to Tortall," the calm, neutral voice of the Princess Berenice was somewhere to the King's left. She had dismounted to check her brother, but Jon had not seen her come up beside him. "If your Majesty is agreeable, we could instruct those of your knights, squires, or other warriors who may be interested. It's a very popular hobby in the Empire." She added. 

"People do that for fun?" Kel could not help the words spill out. 

The princess turned to face her. "Well, yes. We're taught rockclimbing and abseiling as part of our training, and our capital is surrounded by mountains, so cadets from the Academy – you would call them pages and squires – often go there when they have a day or two free. It's very good training for scaling fortifications." She added. 

Jon thanked the princess for the offer, but all his attention was on his eldest daughter.   
  
  
  


"I'm not going back." Kally was firm, even though she was virtually white with pain. She hadn't had time to work her healing Gift on herself. "I'm a fully trained healer, and Duke Baird will need more helpers." 

"You're not safe here!" Roald argued, "Didn't that run in with the Scanrans teach you anything? You're just lucky that Yevgen happened to be around. You would be dead or worse right now if he hadn't come along!" 

"But I'm not. I'm here, and you've just said it, it's not safe to move around alone, and you can't spare the men for an escort. What makes you think I'll be any safer at the Palace? Shinko caught a Copper Isle assassin outside her window just last week…oh, she didn't tell you…never mind that," she said hastily as Roald blanched. "Everyone and their dog is testing the defenses at the Palace now that most of the army's coming up here. I can look after myself. I can shoot as well as any of the Riders and I can use a sword." 

"Very well," Jon threw up his arms in defeat, surprising his two children, who were still arguing. "Report to Duke Baird at dawn tomorrow." He told Kally. "We'll finish this discussion at another time," he warned as he left the room. 

Roald and Kally gaped after him in shock. He never gave in so easily, especially not to them. Kally remembered the long row that had resulted in her unable to follow her brother into page's training. That, more than anything else, told them how worried he was about the Scanran threat. With a chill, Kally realized that she might have been right about at least one of the reasons he was permitting her to stay. Tortall, even with the addition of six-hundred-plus highly trained troops, could not spare an escort to ensure her safely back to Corus. In fact, they might not even have enough troops for the campaign.   
  


Back in Corus, Myles was wondering if it was the right time to share his information, when everyone was so occupied with the Scanrans. His agent in Bersone, disguised as a tourist, had sent back messages – coded, cleverly, Myles thought, as a dutiful son's letters to his parents. But beneath the apparent frivolity about the chicken not as good as how mother made it, or that he was changing his socks at least once a week, was some interesting information. About the training and the testing of knights, and the very high standards that all of this year's crop had apparently reached. A slightly disturbing report about a ritual after the knighthood ceremonies, where several hundred condemned would be publicly executed by the ten top-ranking new knights. It sounded like a combined grand festival and public execution. Suddenly, one of their scrying sessions on the Imperial Family, with the Empress and Heir dressed in finery, and the Heir remarking about a bloodbath making her ill, made sense. 

Myles shook his head and went back to their small store of intelligence on the Scanrans. Imperial 'scouts' – the Tortallans accepted the euphemism for 'spy' – were well trained, and sending back information, but it was not enough. Never enough.   
  


At the camp near Mindelan, things continued to stew. Knights and soldiers continued to mill around camp, waiting for news from returning Rider and Own squads, waiting. Mercifully, the field hospital set up by Duke Baird was still quite empty, much to the relief of the healers. The worst injuries had come from a few overconfident young knights, who, after a few initial lessons in rock climbing and abseiling from their Imperial allies, tried a far more difficult section of cliff than the one they had been tutored on without supervision. Thankfully, they had only broken bones, but it could have been far worse. 

The King was furious, of course – they could not afford to lose even one needlessly, and especially not a knight. However, the lessons continued, watched by an ever-increasing crowd.   


Kel gritted her teeth. _Why do I have to do this to myself?_ She asked. She had gotten over her fear of heights, but that didn't mean that she enjoyed them. She could feel the coarse rope bite into her hands, even with the stout leather gloves that Justinia had insisted that she wear. She couldn't forget how it had taken barely seconds and a few tugs for the Imperials above to secure her rope to a rock. She couldn't forget that the harness she wore, and the Imperials swore was safe, was little more than a few straps of braided leather with iron buckles and rings to pass the rope through. Most of all, she couldn't forget that the ground below was rock, and that it was only her grip on the too-thin rope that kept her from falling. Her arms were getting tired, yet, she could not let the rope slip past her right hand, behind her back, and through her left hand, which steadied the rope, even though she knew it was the only way she was going to get back onto the ground. 

She must have stayed, halfway down the sheer cliff face the Imperials had declared 'ideal' for beginners, and to the Tortallans had looked intimidating, for far too long. A movement near the ledge - it was actually the edge of a goat track they could walk up to from the camp, and which they were using to start the desent - preceded a fast, dark shadow leaping out just to her side and plummeting down the cliff. 

Justinia looked as though she was in free-fall, though, much to Kel's envy, she reached out and grabbed the rope behind her during her descent, and stopped at precisely the right spot to look Kel in the eye. She looked as relaxed there, more than a dozen feet above the ground, with nothing more than rope and leather holding her, as she had around the mess tent. 

"Kel, look at me," her tent-mate commanded. "It's perfectly normal to need a few tries to get used to it. It's not something that's done very often, and it sometimes takes years to do it properly. It might look easy, but it's not. His Highness practiced every day for a year before he could do it." 

Kel, remembering the way the prince could literally jump off a parapet much higher than this cliff, grab a rope, and with nothing more than a pair of thick gloves similar to the ones she was wearing, be confident at reaching the ground safely, swallowed, and nodded. 

"Good, now, just loosen your right hand a little…" 

Kel couldn't hold back a gasp as she slipped down several inches. 

"Good, that's very good. Now, take little steps down the cliff face, like you're wearing one of those ridiculous Court gowns you can't move in, that will make it easier…" 

With coaxing from the surprisingly patient Justinia, Kel managed to get onto the ground, arms and shoulders aching from the effort, to cheers from the crowd watching. Above her, she saw her rope being loosened, then thrown down, as Neal started down the cliff face. He was accompanied, she was interested to see, by an Imperial knight, who was clearly giving him instructions as he made his way down. After that, all of the Tortallans who wished to learn the art of falling off a mountain holding a rope had such a teacher float down with them. Things went more quickly after that, as nobody froze in mid-air, and any mistakes could be corrected on the spot.   
  
  


Alanna and Jon watched the lessons from the tower at the Mindelan keep. Apart from a charred walls and a few missing outbuildings, the castle itself was still in reasonably good repair. Jon had the spyglass. 

"Keladry of Mindelan just got down. Strange, I would have thought that she'd avoid it like the sickness – she couldn't get on the first step down the stairs of Balor's Needle when she was a page." 

Alanna snorted. "Don't you think that she might have gone to try and overcome that distaste for heights? I can't see why our allies would do that for fun, personally, though I agree that it's a useful skill for this sort of terrain." 

They were interrupted by Raoul storming up the stairs, followed by one of Jon's out-of-breath aides. 

"Raoul! What's happened?" 

"Absolutely nothing!" the big knight growled in disgust, and accepted a cup of water from a nervous squire whose name Alanna couldn't recall. "They disappeared into their little holes on the other side of the mountains. I wasn't going to risk the men riding straight into their little traps, so we've just wasted a week going after the little rats. I hope the Riders have more luck." 

King and Champion agreed with the Knight Commander's decision to head back, even if the mission was fruitless. Far better that they _had_ those precious squads of Own to send out again, than to have lost them to wolf-pits and scavengers deep in the mountains.   


Kally continued to fold bandages in the healer's tents, grateful that there was nothing else to do, and feeling guilty that she had wished that there could be. Duke Baird had tried to be disapproving of her unscheduled appearance, but he was not going to turn away a healer as powerful as she was. The lone Imperial in the healer's tents – a female knight whose full name was unpronounceable to most Tortallan soldiers, so settled on being called 'Kirsty' – was a wonder with herbs, splints and stitching, but used her Gift very rarely. She and Baird spent nearly every free moment discussing various techniques and exchanging information, sometimes even over the beds of the patients, who, Kally noted, grew increasing nervous as various exotic remedies were suggested and debated between the two healers. 

It was a tense, but quiet time in the main camp. The sort of quiet where everyone sharpens their weapons and polishes their armour. The sort of quiet that has a hundred or so arrows to bowstrings at the sound of an unexpected birdcall. 

The sort of quiet that comes to a very loud end.   



	10. Crashing Waves

Tortall10   
Note: I'm assuming that the Gift has an autosomal dominant inheritance pattern, since we know that the Gift runs in families, that those of the Gifted who mention their parents have at least one Gifted parent, but some Gifted parents don't have Gifted offspring. If I'm wrong, hey, this is 1) Fantasy, and 2) Fiction. 

Chapter 10 – Crashing Waves 

It was a Rider squad who alerted them first – well, what was left of a Rider squad, at least. A man and a woman, on exhausted ponies, the man white with blood loss and pain from a Scanran arrow in his shoulder thundered into the camp, sending all of them – Imperial and Tortallan alike, reaching for weapons and armour. 

"Scanrans," the woman said unnecessarily, accepting a drink while somebody went to fetch Commander Buri, "over the next pass. They'll come through in the next twenty four hours."   
  


It had an immediate effect on the camp. Within hours, Imperial light cavalry – four centuries armed with bows, javelins and swords, rode out with the Own, the Riders, and the personal levies of the border lords, while heavy cavalry prepared with the knights – their weapons and tactics were virtually identical. 

Kel and Justinia did their best to arm up in the cramped confines of their tent, struggling a little with each others' unfamiliar armour, but eventually managing to get outside to their horses with a minimum of fuss. Peachblossom and Uma, normally cantankerous, settled for trying to bite the grooms who tried to saddle them only thrice between them. 

Mindelan itself was re-fortified and the very few remaining civilians who had stubbornly refused to flee south hid there. Justinia, who, by that stage, was more than a little annoyed at the locals coming to gawp and frown at the female knights, muttered something about throwing a few of the hard-heads all the way to Thak's Gate. (She retained enough of her guest-manners not to say it around Kel, knowing that they were her family's tenants.) 

Mounted, they made their way to the staging areas, where they separated – Kel among the young knights in Prince Roald's unit, Justinia away to a century of heavy cavalry led by a stern-faced knight on a roman-nosed warhorse. 

King Jonathan, on a magnificent black stallion, in gleaming armour, reviewed the troops, his Champion by his side, in her famous gold-washed mail, and on one of her equally famous golden warhorses. He made a speech – and Kel thought it was a rather good one, for all that she wasn't really listening. 

She mentally reviewed her armour, her weapons, even Peachblossom, who hated long waits and moved restlessly under her. Was it her imagination, or were there more white hairs among the chestnut these days? With a start, she realised that she had known Peachblossom for nearly nine years now – the gelding must be starting to get old. Soon, too soon, it wouldn't be fair to ride him into battle. Behind her, in his carrier, Jump listened attentively, tattered ear held aloft as though he could understand the King. Kel realised that she was rambling. Did this always happen before battle? Before – in her last year as squire – those had been skirmishes, minor engagements – even meeting that metal monster was nothing compared to this. 

The waiting was the worst. Not knowing what was coming, and having time to ponder it. She glanced at her friends – Roald, looking the way a Crown Prince ought to, Neal, Cleon, Merric, Faleron, Owen – trying to look serious beside Lord Wyldon. Garvey, healed now somewhat from the rather humiliating duel with the Imperial Prince, was in another unit. Princess Berenice, also in full armour and on her black destrier, riding quietly with the King, and then going to her own people. 

That was when, with a start, Kel realised that she hadn't seen Prince Yevgen for several days.   
  


Afterwards….long afterwards, when the mud and the stone and the unforgiving mountains were little more than a memory. When the blood and the sight and screams of the wounded and dying were but nightmares to keep the survivors awake. When the pain from one's wounds was only a distant memory save when bad weather was near. 

When the battle was no more than a neat entry in the Chief Historians' 'Concise History of the Reign of King Jonathan IV and Queen Thayet'. When it was examined in meticulous detail in Sir Myles of Olau's famous 'Historical Commentaries', and every page for decades afterwards struggled with it on the sand-table. 

Even then, Kel thought, she would never know exactly what went on. There were a lot more animals in the fight than usual, not just the horses. Jump, of course, who by now had worked out go into battle with Peachblossom, who fought with teeth and hooves. Imperial mastiffs, and even the raptors. There even seemed to be great cats, and wolves in the fray, but she knew she was mistaken, for when the dust and confusion finally settled, and the Tortallans held the field, there were no such grand creatures on the rocky plain where the pitched battle had been fought. 

All around her were the groans of the wounded, of the dying. Some among the Scanrans – the higher ranking officers, though, to tell the truth, in this light, and with them all dressed in furs and leathers she found it hard to tell them apart from the common soldiers – were chained as prisoners. Others, not so valuable, had their throats slit. Healers did the same to the worse injured of the Tortallans, those they could not hope to save. Others were treated as best as they could manage, and those who could not walk or ride back to camp had litters made. There were enough spare horses, from both the Scanran and Tortallan sides to allow that. 

The Scanran warlord – Maggur what's-his-name – and his highest officers had escaped. That, perhaps, was the most disappointing part of an otherwise crushing victory, but Kel, seeing the litters and the blood-stained forms that had once been men she fought beside, did not agree. 

The Imperials had their casualties too –fewer than the Tortallans, and negligible against the Scanrans, for most of their light cavalry, like the Riders, did their fighting from a distance – bows, mainly, and had withdrawn to the rearguard when the main force arrived. The heavy cavalry, fighting as they did in a disciplined phalanx, also suffered few injuries against their comparatively disorganised foes. 

Kally and the rest of the junior healers went among the fallen, separating the injured from the already dead, and treating those they could. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw several Imperials – Princess Berenice and Dama Justinia among them, around a fallen form. Thinking it one badly injured, Kally made her way over. It was not what she expected. 

It was a wolf, though a strange one. Daine, if she had been there, and not far north scouting in the form of an eagle, would have told her it was far too large for a mountain wolf, especially one from the Grimhold mountains, where such things were usually middling-sized. Besides that oddity though, this wolf wore a knapsack. 

Swift hands were unbuckling the pack, opening it to find a manner of things – documents and papers, mostly. Meanwhile others had their hands on the great animal, probing the still form. All of a sudden, though, it shuddered, and coughed up blood. 

By now, others had come to watch, curious. 

The wolf shimmered, and changed. In its place a young man, fair haired, white with blood loss from a bad sword slash across his ribs, not wide, but deep, that had not been visible under the dark grey fur of the wolf. 

Yevgen opened his eyes groggily, and met Kally's startled ones. Then he closed them wearily, as though their weight was too much for his exhausted body to take.   
  
  


Duke Baird looked distinctly thoughtful as he sat down at the council table that had been set up in the Great Hall. There were only Tortallans there – the Imperials were tending their own, and the princess was upbraiding her brother about the risks he had taken, coming into the battle itself while he was carrying stolen copies of Scanran battle plans. None of the Imperials appeared particularly flustered that their prince took the form of a very large wolf to do so, so the Tortallans decided to follow their example, if a little warily. 

The princess had delivered the battle plans to the rest of command after her brother was safely in the healers' tents, and they pored over them, worried. While it was unlikely, given the extend of Scanran losses, that these plans would be implemented, they gave an invaluable insight into the thinking and the strength of their opponents. 

"Does it not seem strange," Duke Baird interrupted the company as he was settled, "that in Empire as large and powerful to be able to send six hundred mounted troops as a symbolic force without a blink, a child of the ruler would have only had the Healing Gift worked on him once, despite, I must add, having broken an arm, a collarbone, several ribs and both legs in the last few years?" 

Kally, much to Jon's curiosity and surprise, had gone a little paler at the mention of each of those injuries. 

"I was able to have a good look at him while I was Healing those injuries – much more than the time he was duelling with Sir Garvey, and I found it very interesting. He broke the legs and most of the ribs at the same time – no more than two or three years ago, I would say – yet all that was done in the way of Healing was a very simple spell to make the body's natural processes go faster. While all his bones had healed straight, they've been done with conventional splints and plaster, not the Gift. They have one Healer for more than six hundred – and while she uses her skills and Gift well, it's not a particularly strong one – yet a hundred wildmages, among them twenty or thirty animal healers, who, I am told, usually cannot Heal humans." 

Alanna, a little cross because she had let a Scanran get through her guard and give her a slash on the arm, frowned and thought. A few things were beginning to make sense. "I think I know why they requested Kally above Lianne once they arrived here." 

Jon, Raoul, Roald, and Buri turned to her. The other generals – who had bowed and taken the plans to another table to squabble over when Baird began speaking of the prince – continued their squabbling a short distance away. Kally stared at the table. 

"Kally," Alanna nodded to the girl, "is a very strong Healer, with a powerful Gift. We haven't seen any sign of great Imperial magics. Only a few of them have the Gift – and we know that it's more common in noble families than the rest of the people, largely because Gifted ones among them become hedgewizards and midwives who don't have children, or marry into the noble classes." 

Nods. 

"Nearly all the Imperials we've met – certainly all the ones we've spoken to – are apparently from the knightly class, and we have no reason to disbelieve that. Only a few among them have the Gift, and none of them is particularly strong. Remember, when we were scrying, they needed those gems and boxes to send documents. Those might simply amplify a weak Gift, but, Goddess knows, Sending a material object takes a great deal of energy." 

Jon was nodding. He could not meet Kally's eyes, but she said what they were all thinking. 

"So they're thinking of breeding Gifted Imperial cousins, knights loyal to the Empire." She curled her lip. "We've come this far. Don't think I don't know how these things work. We knew all along that they had to want something other than trade routes. We knew all along that there had to be something about Lianne and I that they wanted that was only mildly connected the mother. You should just be happy that it's not something that you really wanted to keep." With that, she pushed herself up from the table and stormed out the door.   
  


It hurt. It hurt a lot, more than she told herself that it should. It was one thing, one thing to be wanted because your father was a King, and ruler of a fairly powerful and wealthy country, recent crises notwithstanding. To be wanted because your mother was the only daughter of the last legitimate ruler of a broken land, a land that you could help rebuild. It was another – quite another – to be wanted because you had a half-half chance of having children who could throw lightning-bolts around. Not to be wanted because of people already in the world, but those who might not even come. 

She found herself, without even realising it, at the Healer's tents – specifically, at the one that housed Prince Yevgen. She hesitated. He might not even know the real reason, she told herself. He does as he's told. He might not even have been told – or rather, only told the superficial reasons – like mother, and alliances. He probably isn't any more enthusiastic about…children…than I am. 

She stepped inside the long tent carefully, finding, with surprise, that it was almost empty. Only the prince was in this tent – which said wonders for how much lighter the casualties were than Duke Baird had anticipated. For privacy's sake, there had been a sheet drawn around his cot, and Kally's feet took her to it. 

She reached the curtain, and was about to drawn it back, when she froze. Its hem was moving a bit, as though someone else had just touched it. There was a shadow of a standing figure just inside the enclosure – and it was not the prince, for his form was clearly visible on the cot. 

The movement on the cot was noticeable however, as he scrambled up. What he said next, though, was the last thing that Kally expected (but considering that she had found out just hours before that he could turn into a giant wolf, she should not have been surprised at anything…except this.) 

"Lara!" his voice was pure shock, as well as pain, "what are you doing here?" 

Kally froze. From the scrying, according to Silas, one of the prince's officers, and the Empress and Heir themselves, that this woman – Yevgen's former lover – had been assigned duties on the opposite end of the Empire to Sarain, and was not expected to see him again. 

She felt like she stood there for an eternity, but it must have been only a few seconds, for she heard the woman's reply – a clear, low soprano. 

"Standing here. Looking at you. Talking to you." 

"You shouldn't be here," he said hastily, "not that I'm not happy to see you…it's just that…well, last I heard you had taken over garrison command north." 

"Yes...Kay's fifth century. No, they haven't run to fat – I got your letter. Sir Kelvar Gavrillian, this year's Dux Tertia, is in charge now – Radanae's little brother, remember?…and much better at it than ever I was. I came…well…I came with the light cavalry. They had an injury in the Third as they were boarding the ship to Tortall when I was delivering despatches to Sir Frederick, who knew me. He, at any rate, not knowing about…us…managed to get me on his rolls so the ship could move out with the full century. They did send messages after him, but by then it was too late. Your mother has forgiven him, saying that she understands given that importance she placed on the mission, he couldn't have foreseen that of all the people to ride up, it was me. She has, however, given the message-despatch a firm talking-to." A sigh. "Anyway, I just wanted to say goodbye. To see you again. To return this." 

Kally didn't see what Lara handed over, but it was something small – a ring? 

"I should give you your daggers back," Yevgen was saying, "they're just under the cot." 

"No. Keep them. They were a gift in …friendship and affection…I'm proud that you have them. I have other weapons. I have a pair far finer now, bought with my prize-money." 

Another pause. 

"We won't be seeing each other again after this, will we?" Despite the rising tone of his voice, it was a statement, not a question. 

"No. Yevgen…I've been honoured to call you my friend. More than my friend. I just want to say…I wish you will be very, very happy." She stopped, swallowed. "She's very pretty." She stated. 

"Quite." 

Kally realised, belatedly, that they were talking about her. 

"When Kay finally gets around to reading her personal dispatches," Lara continued, "she'll tell you that your sister's finally stopped diddling and made a choice. She's going to announce her betrothal to Corin next month." 

"So we wouldn't have happened." 

"No." Lara's voice was soft. "The Empress, no matter how she likes each of us as individuals, is not going to let cousins marry two of the three first-tier Imperials – especially when one of them already has a connection – however tenuous – to the Imperial House. My family is foolish if it prefers the match between two younger children to having the next Consort." 

"It's good to see you again…I didn't have a chance to say goodbye. I've regretted this, these last few months." 

"We all have our duty," Lara swallowed, "it's the price we pay for our position in life. I…wanted to say goodbye too. Kay…knows I'm here." 

"What did she say?" 

"To come and talk to you. I've been wanting to…since…oh gods and goddesses…since you got onto that ship. But I've been too much of a coward." 

"You are not a coward, Lara." 

"I am. I am. I was too much of a coward to explain to Sir Frederick why I shouldn't go to Tortall, then too much of a coward to come and talk to you – even too much of a coward to tell your sister, my commander-in-chief, that I was here unexpectedly. But…I wanted to see you…just one last time." 

"So you have." 

"When's the wedding?" the question was too swift, too fast. 

"When we get back to Corus." 

"I suppose…this is goodbye then." 

"Yes…it is." 

" Goodbye Yevgen. Be happy." The voice was dignified, though there was a wobble near the end. 

"Goodbye Lara. I wish the same to you."   


Kally barely scrambled behind a nearby sheet in time to see Dama Felara Eriel emerge from the prince's little cubicle. 

She was a bit above medium height, and moved with a certain catlike grace. She had dark red hair a shade from black, cut short like most Imperials (only Princess Berenice out of all of them wore her hair long), gold-toned skin with a slight olive cast, and eyes of a curious amber hue. She stopped to draw the makeshift curtain shut behind her, and froze mid action. She continued, then turned smoothly, to bow in Kally's direction – though Kally was sure that she was not visible. 

Then, Lara – Lara, who, Kally knew she would spend her life being compared against, even if her future husband would never mention it – gave her an ironic smile, and a raised eyebrow, and strode calmly out of the tent.   
  



	11. Night Fight

Tortall11

  
Chapter 11 – Night Fight

Kel had ordered her sparrows away from the fighting. They were useful as scouts, and invaluable in skirmishes, but she didn't want to take the risk that they would be injured in the free-for-all that was pitched battle. 

They cheeped, they protested, but finally, they'd acquiesced, and stayed, impatiently flying around the confines of the camp and annoying the pants off the non combatants who had stayed behind. As soon as Kel returned, therefore, they swarmed around her, reproaching her for every single scratch and dent of her armor. 

Justinia, who was leaning against the tent pole, chuckled. "Protective little pests, aren't they?" she asked, unbuckling her plate and wriggling out of her mail. She wrinkled her nose as she found a long trail of blood and gore – not hers – on one sleeve. 

"It's going to take hours to get clean again," she said disgustedly. She smiled as Nari came and berated her too. "No…sorry," she told the little bird, "I can't really understand much more than the unTalented, but I get your point." Nari, satisfied, flew back to Kel.   
  
They spent the time after the battle, and before the evening meal, putting their gear to rights. Thankfully, neither of them had close friends to send to the funeral pyres – the Imperials had no deaths, but a number of serious injuries. Since neither was the sort who liked to celebrate battle by drink or song (or by any other method, to be quite blunt about it), they waited till the bereaved had drunk their sorrow to temporary oblivion before heading out again.   
  
  


General…well, he was one of the haMinches - Alanna could never keep them straight – was definitely unhappy as he probed the copies of the Scanran plans that the prince had stolen for them. 

"It doesn't add up!" he said disgustedly, rearranging the little metal pieces that represented armies on the large map-table for the thousandth time. "The proportions are all wrong. Where's the infantry? Where're their catapults? Where were those metal monsters? The cavalry was right, but no commander is stupid enough to separate his forces like that!" 

"None of the scouts who came back have reported anything suspicious," Buri commented with a sigh, nursing a stiff shoulder. "However, we're still waiting on a few." 

The King scowled at the figures. "No sign of mages, either, and that worries me." Once the euphoria at the victory had faded, the commanders were gradually becoming wary of several strange points in the battle. While bloody, it was more reminiscent of conventional lowlander warfare – unsuited for these rugged mountains, as they had found in the past. "Our reports from last year indicate that they have enough to send out with medium-sized raiding parties." 

"Do we stay here?" someone asked, "Or do we advance?" 

"Stay." The King said, after a moment's thought. "We stay. There are no fiefs with large enough lands to accommodate this army north of the next pass. We wait. Tell all to remain on full alert – there is something further to come."   
  
  


Kay walked away from the command center thoughtfully. Tortall did have some talented commanders and generals, even if their training wasn't as technical as that of Imperial staff officers. Many of the decisions were the same, but where an Imperial would be able to dissect that decision and compare it against other, well-known techniques, a Tortallan would do it because it 'felt right'. She stopped, briefly to check on her brother and see that he was healing properly, before heading to the river. 

She saw a familiar figure there, skipping rocks. 

"Lara!" she called, as the woman she might have called sister turned around. "You saw him." It wasn't a question. 

Lara sat down heavily. "Yes. I did. To say goodbye. To say it was over. To tell the truth, though," she snorted, "it would have been over in a few more months in any case, even without Corin and Rislyn." 

Kay sat down beside her, curious. She and Lara had shared a room for a little while, which was how Lara and Yevgen became better acquainted than simply year-mates. "Oh?" 

"I don't hold with long-distance relationships," she threw another stone overarm. "With me up north and him in the west, we were bound to drift apart. You know, without this Court storm about Princess Kalasin, I doubt he would have written quite so many impassioned letters, or sent quite so many trinkets. Yevgen, much as I do love him, is far more in love with the idea of being in love than he ever was with me. That's a criticism of his romantic side, not his feelings, though." She added. 

That had been Kay's assessment on the relationship. Lara was a good commander, a splendid fighter who should have been ranked slightly higher had it not been for a very tough mathematics examination, but she wouldn't know what romance was if it bit her on the behind. Lara had loved Yevgen, as much as she could love anyone…probably still did, in her way…but first and foremost, she was practical, and she was an Imperial knight, of a respectable, but hardly great House. She had enjoyed her time with Yevgen, and would look back on it with great fondness - the way one would look back on any near-perfect romance – but she would not turn her back on her duties, nor give up all she had worked so hard to achieve for the sake of a few fleeting emotions. 

Then again, Kay thought, despite appearances, neither would Yevgen. None of them would. It was part of being a knight. 

"Do you regret it?" she kept her voice level. 

"Me and Yevgen?" Lara asked, "Of course. I mean, who doesn't want to marry their first love and live happily every after? But that doesn't happen in the real world. Who's to say that the first person I love is going to be the last?" 

She had obviously been rationalizing it for while. 

"What is Princess Kalasin like?" Lara asked, at last betraying her curiosity. 

"According to Radanae, a frustrated knight." Kay grinned at Lara's shock. "Apparently the concept of a girl wanting to be a knight isn't considered quite 'ladylike' in this part of the world. There are only two of them here, in fact – Lady Alanna, and Lady Keladry – you know, the tallish girl with the brown hair that Justinia's kidnapped." 

"I've seen her around. The one with the menagerie – the sparrows, the ugly dog, and the vicious horse – who, oddly enough, isn't Talented?" 

"That's her. Keladry of Mindelan. Yes, this used to be her home," she confirmed as Lara's eyes widened with surprise. 

"Do you think they'll get along together?" Lara asked, almost wistfully. 

"I don't know." Kay said honestly. "She'll be trained to rule, and she's been raised to expect something like this might happen. At the very least – it will be good for Sarain, I think. I only wish I was so certain it would be good for my brother." 

"What will you do…afterwards?" 

"Go back home, I suppose. I do have work to do. Do you still want to be my second, after all this?" 

"As if you needed to ask!" Lara snorted. "Of course I do! This…" she waved a hand, and sighed, meaning Yevgen, "…is unfortunate. But I suppose one hasn't really lived without at least one heart-wrenching romance. What with Corin and Rislyn, and Selera and Rory Gavrillian – I would have had one anyway. Some genealogical researcher in the Imperial stud-book files would have found an objection as soon as someone got nervous about interconnected Houses marrying into the Imperial and Gavrillian Houses in the same generation. 

"Fifteenth cousins. I don't think it counts." Kay argued. Kay of course, had looked. It was a reflex, to save themselves heartache. Marriages between cousins of any degree were discouraged, and strictly forbidden closer than the fourth degree. Fifteenth, however, was well outside the gray area – considering that some Houses didn't even go back fifteen generations. 

"I don't think it matters anymore," Lara said sadly. "Besides, my association with Yevgen's doing me no end of good on the betrothal market." She raised an ironic eyebrow. "So far, I've offers from nearly all the middling Houses in the central and south-central sectors, and even a few from the high-ranking ones." She paused, then narrowed her eyes. "Just out of curiosity, we've only got cavalry and specialists here, haven't we? No fancy toys from Kyra's Cavern?" That was the nickname for the Logistics Research and Development Department of the Imperial Military. Like all things of that nature, it was underground, in what had once been the dungeons of the old Imperial Palace, and was now the combined administrative headquarters of the Imperial Army and Navy. 

"No. Why?" Kay asked, looking, as Lara did, towards the mountains and woods north. 

"In that case," Lara said buckling her sword belt around her waist and heading back to camp at a fast walk. "We are seriously screwed."   
  
  


Back in the healer's tents, pounding herbs for salve and painkillers, it took Kally a few moments to realize that the screams and groans of pain were not coming from the tents. 

"Attack!" someone was shouting. "Oh gods! Monsters!" 

"Mages! They must have killed the mages! How on earth did they get through otherwise?" somebody screamed – it sounded like one of the cooks. 

"The sentries! Where in all the hells are the sentries?" 

Kally threw off her apron, grabbed the sword that was hanging on a hook, and stepped outside. It took a few moments for her to adjust to the darkness outside the tent, but someone was lighting torches and sending up mage-lights to see properly. What she did see, though, chilled her. 

Metal machines – walking, metallic structures, with clicking blades – such as she had never seen before. Last year, there had been rumors around Court that such things had been seen on the Scanran border, but she had dismissed it as sheer gossip. Now, of course, she knew better. 

There were ten – no, a dozen of the things, in the camp, as nonchalant as could be as they strode right through tents, stepping right on people as they tried to flee. 

There was confusion. No one knew how to fight against these …these things. She stood there, in shock, until she was knocked over by a heavy shape forcing her to the ground. 

"Stay down!" a female voice hissed. "You're right in its range!" 

Kally froze. She knew that voice. 

The body on top of her shifted, and a movement later, much to Kally's shock, the closest metal monster came crashing to the ground, thrashing as it went, a narrow stiletto thrown by the woman guarding Kally, tangled in its 'joints'. Around them, people recovered from the shock, were dealing with the other eleven, with rope, with chunks of stone, with blades (though that was the least useful of all). 

Most awful of all, though, Kally thought, was the little wisps of smoke that poured out of each of the metal contraptions as they moved, and then, finally went still. The sound of a child weeping ran around the camp, sending shivers down everyone's spine. 

"Sorry about that, your Highness," A hand was held out in front of Kally. "I'm Dama Felara Eriel – in the 3rd Light Cavalry, under Sir Frederick Hadrian." 

Kally took the hand limply, and let herself be pulled up, noting with some dismay that the other woman was certainly very attractive, in a rather delicate, elf-like manner, with a fragility of bone that was refuted by the strength in her hands. 

There was a roar, a crash behind them, and then it appeared to be thousands of Scanrans streamed over the mountains. However, readied by the monsters, some of the cavalry was ready, even if infantry was not. That was their saving point. Most of the Scanran cavalry, riding to staging points for this very attack, had been eliminated. In the dark, with the Tortallan force largely unprepared, and the scouts apparently blind…or killed…Kally thought with dread – they would have been sitting targets. 

As it was, their own lack of armor made it possible for them to move more quickly. Kally had trained with her sword every day, much to the disapproval of the Countess, and was never more grateful for it than now. Beside her – Lara – moved swiftly with a pair of daggers. Kally knew that one by itself was a good enough weapon, and had seen the demonstration weapons-dance given by Justinia – showy, and slightly stilted, as those things always were – but this was the first time she had seen a pair used in combat by an expert. There was no doubt that Lara was an expert. At times, there seemed to be nothing but a blur of metal on the ends of her fingers, as men fell before her. At last though, enough archers and knights had managed to get armored up to charge, leaving Lara able to grab Kally and retreat further. 

They crouched behind one of the hastily erected defenses, a supply wagon, and grabbed two bows. Kally's arm had opened up again, but she barely noticed. 

Lara did, though. The older woman (one year, if Kally guessed correctly) made a noise of disapproval and tore a strip of cloth off her shirt and wrapped it around the re-opened wound. "Never fight with injuries, if you can help it," she said sternly, "princess or no. I've had to do that many a time to princes and princesses, and I can tell you that you bleed the same as the rest of us." 

She leaned around the wagon and shot. A Scanran war cry was cut short as a be-furred man dropped heavily onto the ground. 

The fighting then drew away from them, to the plain that was once Mindelan farms and orchards. Lara made another noise and took a better look at Kally's arm. "Are you all right?" she asked. 

"Yes…umm…thank you." Kally was rather at a loss as Lara peered around the wagon again. 

"I…ah…. I notice that you were in the same graduating class as Prince Yevgen," Kally said after a few minutes of silence. "I…don't suppose…. that you could give me any idea as to what he's like?" it sounded pathetic even before it left her lips, but she couldn't stop the question. 

Lara looked very hard at her, and apparently decided to be blunt soldier rather than wily diplomat. "I did notice you in the Healer's tent today, your Highness. I think in these circumstances," right on cue, a dying scream from a gut-wounded man pierced the night, "we can dispose of the usual conversational starting points. Yes, I was in the same graduating year." An ironic smile, "Knight cadets are not under any obligations of celibacy," she continued, "though common bounds of decency and consideration for the others in the vicinity are quite heavily enforced. Once, his Highness and I may have made preliminary considerations for a betrothal, but many plans never come to fruition. Have I ever slept with him?" she got right to the heart of the topic, "Yes, and I wasn't the first. Was that the question you wanted to ask?" 

Kally swallowed, not prepared for the forthright admission. "I suppose you think I must be dreadfully rude." 

"No." Was that a chuckle? "Your highness, how could I be offended by curiosity? A year ago, your highness wasn't sure that Yevgen existed, much less that this would come to pass. I must admit that I know far less of Tortallan etiquette than I should, but in the Empire, it is considered very out of form to persuade another to retract a contract for personal reasons." 

Kally gulped again, surprised at the woman's calm, almost amused tone. Were all Imperials like that? "You're not angry?" she asked. 

"Angry?" it was Lara's turn to sound a little surprised. "It's not an emotion knights can afford to indulge. It's too dangerous. Besides," the chuckle was back, sounding rather self-mocking, "the devotion to duty of the knights is the foundation of Imperial society. It would collapse in a heap if we ever placed our petty concerns above the best interests of the Empire. Rather like nobles everywhere, I think. Our privileges come at a price. If one doesn't think the price of responsibility is worth paying, one surrenders the privileges. It's as simple as that." 

Kally didn't see it quite that way, but she didn't comment. She wished that it had been as simple as that for her. In that case, she would now be four years a Rider, the discomfort and danger well worth the complete lack of freedom in her life. 

Lara obviously read her mind. "Most of us do think that the honors are worth the duty. But then again," she shrugged, "most of us also know no other life." She paused for a second, then called out "Your Highness!" 

Kally jumped, but it was clear that Lara was not talking to her. She peered out to see, much to her horror, Prince Yevgen limping a few yards away, smeared with blood, and holding a sword. 

"Your Highness!" Lara repeated, "Look, I know there's a fight on, but honestly, you just got back from one. You've opened up your wound again," she scolded. "Your Highness," she bowed to Kally, "May I presume to impose upon you to escort His Highness back to the Healers' tents. I need to make a report on this skirmish." 

She did not let Kally reply, instead, bowing, turning quickly and striding briskly out into the night in the direction of the command center. 

Yevgen allowed himself only one glance after her before becoming the charming prince again, and letting a silent Kally guide him back to the Healer's tents.   
  
  


"I've never seen a masking spell like this before," Alanna, pale with exhaustion, both magical and physical. "I've been in contact with Numair. He's read about it, but he's never heard of it done with such a large force. Hunting parties, yes, but not an army of this size." 

They had managed to repel the Scanrans after the destruction of the machines, but losses had been heavy, particularly among the Tortallans, since the Imperials were camped on the southern side, and those involved in the fighting from the Imperials had some time to get ready. 

"Nothing from any of our scouts from the north." Buri reported glumly. 

"Ours have made contact," Princess Berenice said unexpectedly, "but they report being blocked for the last few hours, as though a wall had been set up between them and the main camp. They're on their way back now. I don't pretend to know anything of magic," she bowed to Jon and Alanna, "but may I hazard to suggest that interference with what you call wild magic is rare in this part of the world?" 

"Damn right," as if summoned, Daine burst in, looking disheveled, the smell of burnt feathers wafting in with her. "All accounted for, Highness," she nodded to the princess, who gave a courteous bow back, People-hearted to People-hearted. "No casualties, but the same reports. Not only were we unable to Send back, most of us seemed to be temporarily stuck. A few of the younger ones are still panicked about it." 

Considering the youngest among the Imperials was nineteen, barely five years younger than Daine, it did seem a little odd, but Kay conceded that Daine was a good deal more powerful than most Imperial Talented. Closer to the source, probably. 

"I haven't seen hide nor hair from the conventional scouts, though, Commander," Daine could have been speaking to either Raoul or Buri, who were sitting next to each other, but, to be quite frank, that didn't matter. "I hope that it's because they've hidden themselves well." 

Buri, for one, did not share her optimism, and it showed.   
  


"I see you've met Dama Felara," Yevgen's tone was conversational, but Kally knew from the gritted teeth that he was trying to bite back pain. She went and found some willow tea. Even in the midst of the attack, someone had left a pot of it on a dampened brazier. 

"Yes…she…helped me when those…things attacked." 

Yevgen bowed as he accepted the plain-fired pottery mug. 

Silence. 

"You asked me about the friend whose daggers I had down in the gorge." He said quietly, after a sip. "They're Lara's." 

"I'd guessed." 

Silence again, as he finished the tea. He toyed with the empty mug for a while. 

"I'm very sorry," Kally said, at last, "I don't know what to say." 

"Neither do I," he admitted, with a self-mocking, slightly harsh chuckle. "I don't even know what I'm doing here, talking about it with you. It's not something most women like to hear, after all. Besides, I'm selfish here, wallowing, when for all I know, you might have had to say goodbye to someone too." 

"No…" her voice was barely a whisper. 

"And nor would it be my business if you did," he finished. 

"Do you think you might have been happy together?" Kally regretted the question almost as soon as it left her lips. 

He met her eyes in surprise. "I don't know." He said, at length. He seemed to gather his courage. "Your Highness, what I am trying to say - and failing miserably, might I add – is that whatever we…both of us…have had to leave behind for this, it will not affect what will be. Sarain must be rebuilt, whole, and stable, not only for the Empire, Tortall and the other Eastern Lands, but for the K'mir, the Doi and the Saren. For all her people, great and humble alike. Whatever…happens…afterwards…your Highness – Kally," he remembered, "you shall always have my loyalty, my honor, my allegiance, no matter what the world brings." 

There were tears in her eyes, at the simple statement, even the strength it must have taken him, to put aside what must have been a great love, his own hopes for the future, for a woman he barely knew, and people he had never met. She was grateful for the darkness, as she could turn to prod the brazier back into life and wipe her eyes surreptitiously as though brushing away dirt. 

"And mine is yours," she said, equally quietly, but meaning it. She put a hand over his, aware that she was trembling, and he was stilled, tense, like a hare about to take flight. 

Proper, romantic lovers, a proper prince and princess should have melted into each other's arms, oblivious to the world. 

But they were not. They were hardly more than strangers, and their marriage was for the sake of others, for a small, rather insignificant country that neither had really cared much about. They did not promise everlasting love, or eternal romantic devotion, or even affection that night. Neither of them ever made promises that they were not prepared to keep forever. They promised a partnership that would make a war-ravaged country rise from its ashes, rise to shine brighter than anyone could ever have imagined. 

If either of them even considered the possibility of anything more than simple respect and liking between them, they did not mention it that night, no matter how much each of them might have wished it. That was for another time, another place. 

Outside, someone watched the two vague figures, silhouetted in the dim glow of a charcoal brazier. The man…he was sitting on the cot…raised the woman's hand to his lips, a formal salutation, but also the sealing of a bargain. The woman did not draw her hand away, but instead sat down beside him on the cot – not touching, but near enough that her hand was still in his. They appeared to be talking. 

Outside, Dama Felara Eriel looked at the tableau against the Healer's tent for another second, before turning swiftly turning on her heel and heading back to her own quarters, to cry over her prince one last time.   



	12. Aftermath

Chapter 12 – Aftermath

It was, as a disgusted Radanae had termed a similar situation the day after the Display, the morning after the night before. Then, two years ago, Justinia had been too busy trying to prevent her head from splitting. She needed the drinks of forget what it had been like in the stadium, running with blood-lust and feeling the squelch of once-living humans under Uma's hooves. While this situation was completely different, to Justinia, the feeling the morning after the Scanran attack was almost exactly as the morning after the Display. 

It was not as though it had been the first time she had seen death, or even the first time she had killed. Knight-cadets were taken to public executions, did watch the Display, did take part in bandit hunts. Partially it was to determine which of them were uncomfortable with killing for anything but self-defense (Radanae was one, though she strenuously denied it. She didn't consider it quite worthy of a knight, and particularly not from the scion and heiress of a very old, very famous military House. It wasn't quite so convincing when she threw up as a reflex even after a bandit skirmish), and so start to plan assignments for when they gained their knighthood. 

The once-orderly camp was a shambles. Kel and Justinia had got to the fight late, mostly due to the distance between their tent and the northern part of the Tortallan encampment. There was little they could do. The machines that Kel had seen before had already been downed, though at a huge cost of lives, and the cavalry and the archers had things well in hand with the vast, but disorganised Scanran infantry. 

Everyone – Imperial, Tortallan – even a Yamani or two – helped to clear up the mess and care for the dead and wounded. There were a few Scanran captives – there would have been more, but there had been a breakdown in discipline among the troops, pride pricked at having their camp breached in such a decisive fashion. 

It was also the first time either Kel or Justinia had ever seen so many funeral pyres at once, and the sight and stench of burning flesh made them both retch and throw up what little they managed to eat. Kel was convinced that she would never be able to eat meat again, though that was soundly refuted when Justinia and a few of Kel's other new friends among the female Imperial knights snorted and all but forced grilled bacon and fried sausages down her gullet the following day. That was when the stench had started to fade and somebody had managed to stop heaving for long enough to find and hang up fragrant herbs and flowers around the eating-tents. Kel was grateful for the thought. It was the first time she had been in the company of large numbers of female warriors, and it was not altogether an uncomfortable experience. They had been though similar experiences, though Kel had to bite back slight feelings of envy that none of them had ever had their ability challenged on the basis of their sex. She consoled herself with the thought that her stubbornness, and her reaction against such doubts, had probably pushed her into being a better knight than she might otherwise have been.   
  
  


In the command tent, the high-ranking officers pored over the defenses, trying to see what had gone wrong. 

"We have not encountered this particular technique for several centuries," Princess Berenice admitted reluctantly. "To tell the truth, I was not certain whether it could be done." She shook her head in a dismissive gesture, "But I am advised that it is a relatively easy to deal with. It's a simple shield-spell, only much larger, and consequently quite thin, so to speak. I believe it was merely the unexpectedness that took our scouts off-guard." She fairly included her own troops with those of the Tortallans. 

"Good." Alanna's voice was tight, "We must make certain that this does not happen again. Numair," she changed the subject "have we any information on the movements of the Scanrans?" 

"All heading back north in shambles. That's been confirmed by Daine and by her highness's Imperial agents. They…er…" he paused hesitantly, as if, as a mage rather than a soldier, he did not know quite how to continue, "it appears that they did not expect…um…the level of resistance they found here…" he winced slightly at his own choice of words to describe the terrible carnage that had taken place the previous night. However, no matter how one might state it, the Scanrans, who evidently had been expecting no resistance at all from the Tortallans between the monsters and the silenced scouts, had been resoundingly defeated, even though the toll among the defenders had been sorrowfully high. 

There was a cough from one of the generals. "We believe, sir, and acting upon Sir Myles of Olau's information, that this particular force was comprised of several southern mountain tribes, promised quick victories and loot in an unexpected raid on Tortall. This …defeat…for them will be a blow for the alliance." 

Perhaps an overly optimistic view, but nobody opposed him. Finally a decision was made to wait until there was more concrete information about the state of the Scanran force, and who had managed to gain power in the wake of this conflict, before the Tortallans and Imperials would move south to Corus for a royal wedding.   


It was over a week before King Jonathan and his advisers were satisfied that the disjointed Scanrans were in no shape to mount another large offensive in the near future. However, to make sure, all the border fiefs were refortified – including Mindelan – and additional funds made available for increased garrisons. Numair, Alanna, Daine and the other mages and wildmages, both Tortallan and Imperial, were satisfied that there were no more significant concentrations of Scanran troops for quite a distance, information confirmed by Sir Myles's more conventional means, who also gave them information on renewed factional squabbling among the Scanran nobles and clans. 

Peace of a sort, it appeared, had descended back on Tortall. However, elsewhere in the camp, others were not so sure. 

"I don't get it," Kel said for the hundredth time, "they wouldn't give up so quickly, would they? From what Sir Myles says about the Scanrans, the alliance that must have been in place for so many troops must have taken years to forge. It wouldn't fall apart so quickly…would it?" 

Justinia shook her head, wondering how her clothes managed to expand over the course of the campaign. She was sure they all fitted into her saddlebags at the beginning. "You'll find that it's much easier to break alliances than it is to form them. Many things…sometimes, even hundred of things…need to fit together well for there to be an alliance. It takes only one disagreement, one snag, for it all to fall apart. I agree that it looks just a little too neat…but?" she shrugged. "One never knows. I leave these things to the politicians. Let them get their hands dirty for once." 

Kel nodded absently, but she was thinking about the man the Chamber of Ordeal had shown her. He obviously had something to do with the machines, and she had thought they would face him in this campaign. Who was he? What part did he play in Scanran politics? Worse of all, if she had to face him again, would that not mean there would be more war here? Kel did not like that thought at all, but could see no alternative. She was not exactly spy material, which would be the only way she saw herself getting close to any high-ranking Scanran off the battlefield. However, she supposed, at least this little war was over, and she could go back to Corus. 

Back…to work out what she was going to do.   
  


About half the Imperial force would embark an Imperial Navy transport ship at the nearest port. Princess Berenice made vague noises about how they were needed in Sarain to relieve the garrisons there, or at other assignments that sounded at once very dull and of great importance. Considering even what little they knew the size of the Imperial Army, the Tortallans did not believe that a few hundred, mainly wounded, Imperials would make much difference. However, for the sake of good relations, and the complete lack of threat that a few hundred, mainly wounded Imperials would cause for security, they tactfully let the observation pas. 

Kally knew, however, that the main reason the princess was sending part of the Honour Guard early was to remove a certain female knight from the Imperial force in Tortall. A part of her was glad of her future sister-in-law's tact, and her sensitivity to the three involved in the matter. Even though Lara had saved her life, Kally could not feel comfortable having her husband's former lover present at their wedding. 

To be perfectly fair, she didn't think that it would be any easier for her future husband, or Lara, for that matter. Despite Berenice's apparent indifference to the matter, Kally was well aware of a very astute mind in her sister-in-law, whether it was in politics, military strategy, or personal relationships. She was very glad that Berenice would not be playing a significant part in Sarain after Kally and Yevgen married. Oddly, that thought wasn't as daunting as it seemed even a few weeks ago. After her conversation with Yevgen the night of the Scanran attack, she felt that they could form a good partnership for Sarain, at least. If she had hopes of something a little more personal, her disciplined mind did not allow her to think it. And if anyone mentioned that they heard Princess Kalasin humming the refrain from an old love song, as she packed to return to Corus, Her Highness the Princess Royal of Tortall would not only have strenuously denied it, she would have tried her best to send the offender to her father's deepest, darkest dungeon (King Jonathan didn't actually have a dungeon, anymore. It had been converted into a wine cellar) so that they could not repeat their ridiculous claim.   
  


They returned to the Tortallan capital some weeks later. After Queen Thayet had finished admonishing her daughter for slipping away and going to a war zone without so much as a by-your-leave, she was so overjoyed to have her eldest son and daughter back that she seemed to forget that they were adults in their own right and quite embarrassed them in front of their friends. She was overjoyed to see her husband back safely too, and he was equally glad that she had come to no harm in his absence (meanwhile, Roald and Shinko were in the midst of an uncharacteristic row and an equally uncharacteristically demonstrative make-up over the Copper Isle assassin incident). All welcomes aside, though, with comparative peace on the Scanran border courtesy of yet another power-struggle among the various rival factions, it was time to prepare for the second royal wedding of the year, and the Princess Kalasin's departure to Sarain. 

For the Imperials, on a very practical side, was the problem of working out details of Saren coronation rituals without the Tortallans discovering their relative ignorance of such matters. Historically, the Imperials had not been terribly concerned about the affairs of nations west of the Roof, for the logistical reasons that they were too geographically removed to be of any real interest. By the time the conflict in Sarain had made conquest a viable option, the Saren no longer bothered with little ceremonies like coronation ceremonies (and other unnecessary niceties, like justice and chivalry, for example). In the Empire, the coronation of the Empress (and on at least five recorded occasions, Emperor) was simply a matter of the prospective monarch placing the Diadem on their head and swearing an oath to serve and defend the Empire, all the while surrounded by a large number of knights prepared to permanently silence anyone who might suggest that the candidate wasn't going to do a good job. Not that they all did, of course, but given the sometimes murky nature of Imperial politics, any candidate resilient enough to get as far as the coronation deserved a sporting chance to rule the Empire. The Eastern Lands seemed to place a great deal of importance towards the gods, so the Imperials went to research the significance of Mithros, the Mother Goddess, and the others of the parthenon worshiped in the Eastern and Southern Lands. Religion did not play a large part in the daily lives of the Imperials (or at any rate, in the Imperial aristocratic and professional classes, to which nearly all knights belonged), and compared to their neighbours, the Imperials were practically atheists. 

In the confusion between planning the ceremony, the banquet, the departure, the clothes, the retinues, and such, it seemed that the bride and groom were almost forgotten.   
  


Kally slipped away from the army of seamstresses and tailors employed to make her wedding gown and trousseau with surprising difficulty. Her mother was taking a very motherly, and very un-Thayetlike interest in Kally's wardrobe, and had insisted that her daughter be present, and even to help with the embroidery. The last confirmed Kally's sneaking suspicion that her mother was acting out wedding plans that had previously been ruthlessly quashed, rather than drastically changing her personality, which was the other possibility. Kally knew little about her parents' wedding, only that, counting the time between her mother's arrival in Tortall, her father's coronation, the wedding, and her brother's birth, that it was quite a rushed affair, with the absolute minimum of pomp and ceremony considered necessary for a royal wedding. She knew the arguments for having the wedding as quickly as possible, though. At the time of her father's coronation, there had been no clear heirs to the fractured Tortallan throne – only third and fourth cousins, all of whom would have sent the country into civil war had the unthinkable happened to the young King– and it was absolutely necessary to secure the succession. The birth of Kally's brother, less than a year later, must have soothed many anxious fears. Also, with her mother's childhood spent in Sarain, and fully expecting an arranged marriage with somebody completely loathsome, Kally could guess that the then-Princess Thayet had not even dared to hope for a marriage built on love, or to take part in wedding preparations with joy. 

All things considered, Kally had to admit that Prince Yevgen was not a bad option, but that didn't mean she wanted to sit inside in a solar for days on end, as her mother exorcised long-repressed fair-princess-about-to-wed-handsome-prince fantasies. She doubted that Queen Thayet would ever admit that such feelings were the motivation for her intense interest in her daughter's nuptials, even to herself. She had taken scrupulous care in helping to organize the wedding of her son and Princess Shinkokami, but as fond as she was of Shinko, even the redoubtable Queen Thayet the Peerless acknowledged that there was a vast gulf of difference in last-minute preparations for a son's betrothed, no matter how fond of the girl she might be, and organizing the wedding of her own daughter.   


That being said, Kally still had to get out into the fresh air or she would go mad. She finally retreated to the stables, to apologize to her palfrey for not taking him up north, and to the two ponies, for having done so. Onua, after consultations with a bemused Daine, had given the pair to Kally with an exasperated expression, saying only that they were lazy sods who preferred the luxury of royal stables to real work. A beautiful creamy destrier who was part of the string given to the Conté family by the Imperials had also been assigned to her, the others being distributed between father, mother, brothers and sister, with the remaining three being given to Cousin Gary, her honourary Uncle Raoul, and Alanna, who didn't like being called 'Aunt', even in an honourary capacity. The gelding seemed to understand that he would no longer be a proper warrior's mount, and was sulking accordingly. Kally didn't want to know what he was thinking. The mastiff puppy, miffed at her abandonment during the Scanran campaign, had found a new home with her brother Liam. 

She was not completely surprised to see Prince Yevgen there, and, from the hunted look on his face, similarly avoiding the horde of tailors. He bowed politely at her approach, and she was ridiculously pleased to find that he gave her a smile of genuine welcome. He was talking to Everglade, evidently about hunting. 

"Escaping too?" Kally asked lightly. 

"Yes," he shuddered. "I had no idea that Kay could get so enthusiastic about something that didn't directly involve horses, steel, or maps." He seemed to pause, as though trying to form words. "I hope you won't take it as a slight that she has to return home straight after the….ceremony." 

That was the first Kally had heard of it, so she could not. "Of course not," she covered, secretly seething that nobody had bothered to tell her. She'd assumed that the princess would journey back with them on the Imperial flagship. 

"She felt that it was best to…er…give us…that is, you and I…some…er…privacy." 

To her intense surprise, there were two spots of colour, high on his cheekbones, clearly visible despite the tan he acquired north. 

"How is she to get back then, without the ship?" it slipped out before it occurred to Kally that he might not be permitted to tell her. 

"We have ways." He smiled. "As to the reason why her early departure was not planned for earlier, our elder sister has recently become engaged. Kay wishes to attend…well, more than wishes…she is required to attend the betrothal celebrations. They're set to take place about a week and a half after….after the…our wedding." He was somber again. Kally wondered if, like her, despite their growing acquaintance over the last month or so, he was uneasy about the whole process. She honestly could not blame him. 

"Do you know the Princess Rislyn's betrothed?" Kally asked, to take the attention off their own wedding. 

"Yes…somewhat. He's a member of one of our larger Imperial noble families, and he's got somewhat of a reputation as a gifted fighter who can also scribble a rather nifty stanza or two." He paused. "We'll be expected to go to their wedding in Bersone next year," he added. 

"What are Imperial weddings like?" Kally asked, curious. So far, the preparations for their own nuptials had been in the Eastern style, with no objections from the Imperial party. 

"They're much less…formal…" he appeared to have difficulty choosing the right word. "…and….umm…rarer." 

Kally raised an eyebrow, surprised. 

"The Delmaran family, as you might have guessed by now, is matriarchal, as are most of the older and more powerful Imperial families. Formal marriages, as such, are quite rare, as they aren't really necessary for the succession. Traditionally, only the Imperial Heir, if she is of suitable age, marries. Reigning Empresses don't, as a rule, though nobody really knows why, if the Heir does." He shrugged. "I don't tend to argue too much with little inconsistencies like that. It didn't make much difference with my parents." 

Since Yevgen had never mentioned his father, and spoke of his mother only as 'the Empress' Kally leant forward, interested, but he volunteered little information. "My father died a few years ago in a hunting accident." he told her abruptly. 

"I'm sorry," Kally said automatically. She waited, as it appeared that he was going to continue. When he didn't she put forward another question. "Do you think that your twin will marry, now that both your sister and…you…are?" 

He snorted. "I doubt it. It would be a breach of protocol, even if Kay wanted to give up her freedom to keep company with whatever man she likes that particular moment. Younger princesses, particularly those who are so obviously capable of rule, like Kay, don't, unless they intend on mounting a challenge to the diadem. Which, of course, she has no intention of doing," he added hastily. "The formality of marriage is only customary for the Imperial Heir, as it's politic that the fathers of Empresses conceived before their mothers take the Diadem are official members of the Imperial House. It doesn't really matter who fathers the daughters of the reigning Empress. Kay will be strongly advised against marriage unless it proves that Ris won't be able to have children, and nobody will be sure of that for years." He shook his head. "Hopefully that won't happen, for Kay's sake. She won't really have the sort of career she wants without more extensive battle experience that the Scanran campaign, and mother and the rest of the Council won't let her do anything more dangerous than that until Ris has a daughter or two." He forced a smile. "I also have the sneaking suspicion that - aided by Justinia and Radanae, who are my sister's close friends – my twin also assured the said Council that the Scanran campaign was far less dangerous than it really was." 

Kally, who understood such tactics and the sentiments behind them, laughed with him. They stayed in the stables until pages were sent out to look for them, talking about horses, the Empire, their siblings, Tortall, Scanra, everything, in fact, except the two things that both of them desperately wanted to discuss, but didn't dare to – the wedding, and Sarain. 

As one of her mother's ladies came to lead her back to the stuffy solar for yet another dress fitting, Kally caught herself thinking that Yevgen was everything a girl could possibly hope for in a husband…except for one thing. She didn't love him. However, though, Kally admitted, she liked him very much, and it would not take a great deal for her to be persuaded to fall in love with him. She admonished herself for thinking such ridiculous thoughts. It was an arranged marriage, for political and magical reasons, and feelings didn't come into it at all. She was just so grateful, after considerations of the candidates from Maren and Galla, that he was young, intelligent, handsome and pleasant-mannered, that she was feeling so fond of him. 

Such arguments had less and less weight as Kally found herself slipping away at every opportunity she had to go and talk to her betrothed.   



	13. Wedding Bells

Chapter 13 – Wedding Bells

It wasn't really much of a bachelor party, Radanae decided the night before the wedding. It was too civilised. Yevgen was a quiet sort at the best of times, a character trait that was a vital survival skill for any young royal with no aspirations for ultimate power, but a need to convince others of that. 

However, it was not for want of trying. Somebody (Rislyn, probably, Radanae guessed) had been thoughtful enough to include many of Yevgen's old Academy friends in the units sent to Tortall, and somebody (Kay) had judiciously kept them all with the groups remaining for the wedding. The Empress had evidently felt enough guilt about packing her only son off to a place that most Imperials regarded as beyond the ends of the world, and among her presents was a sumptuous wine service, and several dozen bottles of the finest Imperial vintages. 

Well, there had been several dozen bottles at the beginning of the evening, at least. Whether there would be any at the end of the evening was another question entirely. There had been the traditional fare for the groom's bachelor party, either shipped from the Empire, or carefully made in the Palace kitchens by the prince's friends themselves. Radanae helped herself to another spiced biscuit, meant to symbolise a lively marriage and spirited children. There was an air of reserve, of politeness in the room, which was soundly counter to what anyone might expect of a good-sized group of young knights, especially those from (mainly) wealthy families and who were friends of younger royal children. There was none of the good-natured ribbing, the obscene teasing, the too-detailed suggestions and advice that should have been a part of any respectable Imperial bachelor party. Even though Radanae had only been to a few (most knights, with the exception of the Imperial Heir and those non-inheriting children of the greatest families, didn't marry until they were well into their twenties) she could sense that there was something seriously wrong. 

In the Empire, bachelor parties were held by both the bride and the groom, and attended by their friends of both genders, so with the traditional presence of a great deal of alcohol (it symbolised fertility or something or another. After a few pints it didn't really matter), they had a rather murky reputation for questionable behaviour. The most memorable one Radanae could remember had involved honey, an ant's nest, and a great many apologies from the unentomologically inclined the next day. Well, she couldn't have told the difference between harmless sugar-ants and fire-ants with their painful stings in the dark, even if she was sober. Yevgen's party, however, was going to be memorable only for its sheer dullness. Even Yevgen's former roommate, Sir Aulan Ithoku, who could be relied upon to say something completely tasteless at any occasion (on a biographical note, he was attempting to single-handedly write critical reviews of every single courtesan-house in the Empire) kept his conversation on the difficulties of transporting copper pipes and marble to the new Palace Yevgen had built in the Saren capital. 

Everyone seemed to be very concerned with not mentioning the wedding, or Princess Kalasin, more than was strictly necessary. Radanae couldn't really see why. It was not as thought cadets led cloistered lives, after all, and even those who didn't know about the prince's relationship with Felara Eriel (i.e., those who were living on a different plane of existence), would not have supposed that a twenty year old Imperial knight would be unfamiliar with the facts of life. 

Yevgen himself seemed reasonably content with his fate, although that may have been at least partially due to the forethought of Kay adding a little poppy-juice to his wine. He appeared to at least like Princess Kalasin, and some of that feeling was reciprocated, but his twin was not going to take the chance of any last-minute pre-wedding jitters manifesting in flight (both metaphorically and physically). 

Radanae swirled the wine in her glass, wondering why it was called 'white' when it was really closer to a yellowish. At that point, however, Princess Berenice had obviously had enough of everyone's too-diplomatic conversation and stood up. 

"Oh bother this!" she said loudly ('bother' was not precisely the word she used. She was a bit tipsy). "What's a party without dancing? Come on someone, get some music! Let's all drink a bit more and fall over giggling. We might as well all have some fun." She determinedly slammed down another glass of wine and gave the rest of the room a stern glare, almost ordering them to enjoy themselves and behave as though it was a real party.   
  
  


Meanwhile, in Princess Kalasin's rooms, the gathering was a bit more dignified, even if the sense of slightly forced gaiety was present. Queen Thayet had given her the traditional, completely unnecessary 'talk' about the facts of life, more out of a sense of motherly duty than any real ignorance on Kally's part. 

"I had always hoped that my children could marry for love, like I did," Thayet said softly as she helped brush out Kally's hair. It was shorter than it had been (she'd cut off a good chunk of it during the Scanran campaign), and so such assistance was hardly necessary, more a bond between mother and daughter. "I am sorry that this happened." 

"It's all right, mother," Kally said, not meeting her mother's eyes in the mirror. She didn't really want to say it, feeling that it sounded a bit cloy, but she felt that a marriage for love was the least her mother might have got as compensation for her childhood experiences. Thayet had been about Kally's age when she'd had to flee across a continent, pursued by assassins, with a teenaged Buri the only companion she really knew, having to place her trust in a scandalous female knight, a deadly warrior and a dour man-at-arms. Kally, at least, except for the knighthood issue, had managed to get practically everything she wanted, and, for a princess, had managed a reasonably happy life so far. She supposed that there had to be a price for everything. Yevgen wasn't so bad, all things considered. She stole a look at her younger sister. 

Princess Lianne sat on the bed, with a list in her hand. Kally knew that it contained the names, ages and characteristics of some of the eligible men and boys in the Eastern and Southern Lands. There was a second, shorter list of Imperials. Of the first list, there were a depressingly small number with ages that had a '1' or '2' prefix who might have also been politically valuable. There were a horrifyingly large number who were at least as old as their father. Kally hoped that Lianne would, at least find some sort of contentment when the time came for her. 

There were five other women in the room – Buri, of course, and Alanna. Kally sometimes felt that her honorary aunt was more indignant about Kally's arranged marriage that Kally herself was, were it possible. Daine, who Kally was fond of and often exchanged Healing tips with, was there, as was Crown Princess Shinkokami and the lady knight, Keladry of Mindelan. 

"Do you think that you'll wear the pearls or the sapphire necklace?" Shinko, as always, was the one who began the conversation on an innocuous topic, when the silence was beginning to become deafening. 

"The sapphires, I think," Kally said, glad to get her mind onto frivolous things. "The pearls wouldn't really have much of an impact with the dress." 

Kally's wedding dress was a stunning creation of silver-shot ice blue silk, weighted at the hem with hundreds of tiny pale blue baroque pearls, each matched in colour, shape, and size. With it, she would wear the sapphire necklace that was Prince Yevgen's supposed betrothal present (which, after a little subtle probing, Kally had found that he had actually seen before he sent it), pearl earrings that were all her mother had of Kally's namesake's once famed jewellery collection (the rest had gone to fund the Warlord Adijun's wars), and the Conté family tiara. The tiara was a delicate, fragile creation of white gold and diamonds, and suited her far better than the heavier, more ostentatious pieces that made up the Tortallan Crown Jewels. 

"That will look very nice." It was obvious that the lady knight wasn't terribly interested in the co-ordination of jewellery and gowns, but Kally was somewhat grateful for the effort Lady Keladry was making. She wasn't very close to the lady knight, but was well aware that she was friends with Shinko, and was also very well thought of among the female Imperial knights, who had adopted her into their ranks. 

Thinking of female knights, Kally was surprised, and no little shocked, that she no longer felt the jab of jealousy and resentment she once had when she had first met them. Time, of course, she supposed, though she knew that she still envied their ease, their freedom to do as they pleased. She especially envied her sister-in-law, who had all the benefits of royalty, and was not only a knight, but would probably not need to make a marriage at all, much less an arranged political one. She gave a little inward sigh. Acceptance, perhaps, of her situation – or was it a useless rationalisation, a feeble attempt to somehow find some sort of happiness in an impossible situation? She only wished that she knew. 

"He's a pleasant enough lad," Buri said gruffly, with a little show of reluctance. Kally stared at her. The stocky K'mir had said little about the Imperials save to remark that their equestrian training was 'rather good', and that some of the birds that they flew were similar to those that roamed the Saren mountains. "I'm not just saying that to make you feel better, Kally," she continued, "that would not only be wrong, but insulting when things are so serious. I think…I think that you two could very well be happy together. I don't say that lightly. I do know what it's like to be happy with someone, hard as it may be to believe." 

Buri rarely spoke about her liaison with Lord Raoul, for all that it was hardly a secret and really not much of a scandal except among the fustiest of conservatives. It was the second real surprise out of Buri in as many sentences. 

Kally looked at Daine, who shrugged. "I have no idea what he's like. Everglade says that he is a good partner who thinks of his charges, human and animal, before himself." 

"Everglade?" the Queen asked. 

"His horse." Kally replied swiftly, and then realised that the other six were looking at her with indulgent expressions. Kally turned up her nose and ignored them. She changed the subject. "I've been re-reading the treaty. Has anybody noticed that there's a hole in it?" She reached under her desk and pulled out a bound book, surprisingly dog-eared for such a new document. "There's nothing about…er…succession. It states very clearly just what's going to happen once his Highness and I get there, and get crowned, but not what happens…after us." 

"Ah. The Ambassador and I discussed that after you left." Thayet produced another, more slender volume titled 'Addendum'. "Seeing as there are such differences between the two lands as to succession, not to mention Saren traditions on the matter. In brief, it states that one of you rules alone should one of you…er…predecease the other, and only with the abdication or passing of both of you shall there be a new King…or Queen…of Sarain. I believe that we have cautiously put forward that the Heir Presumptive be the eldest knighted child, a compromise between all the positions taken by the various parties. But…" she paused, "I hasten to say that these proposals aren't binding – neither the Empress, not your father and I have signed them yet." 

Kally received the book into her hands with a look of slight disbelief. Her mother mentioned the possibility that Sarain might be ruled by a line of female knights, a position that was completely alien to nearly all countries west of the Roof, with perfect casualness. She wondered how soon it would be before more Imperial influence began to show in the Eastern and Southern Lands. After the tournaments and competitions with the initial delegation and the 'support force', there had been an extraordinary number of applications from girls of noble families to train as knights. She expected Lord Wyldon must have nearly had an apoplexy when he found out that there were actually more girls than boys among the first year pages to start the following autumn. However, that was more because all the boys were ten-year-olds, and the girls ranged in age from ten to fourteen. She supposed that if her mother gave birth to another daughter now (and that was not impossible, Kally knew – Queen Thayet was barely forty), that it might be perfectly acceptable for that princess to be a knight. 

However, that was mere conjecture, and a decade away. It was now well past midnight, and with deadly finality, Kally knew that by the end of the day, she would be married, to a young man she knew just well enough to talk to, and preparing to leave to rule a country that she had never seen.   
  


The wedding morning was bright and cheerful. Too cheerful for Radanae's taste, as she braced herself and stuck her head under the icy cold water of the tap. They'd had to presence of mind to bundle the semi-drugged Yevgen off to his bed at a reasonably sensible hour, but, after that, his guests at the bachelor party had promptly discarded their common sense to toast their friend's departure from the carefree world of the bachelor, no matter how uneasy they were about the prospect. Radanae supposed that they should at least be grateful that Kay had anticipated their utter wretchedness and had ordered them all to ready their wedding finery before heading off to the party. 

Kay, damn her Imperial soul, could drink a shipful of sailors under the table and never got hung over. She was whistling as she pinned her hair up and secured it with a coronet of platinum set with amethysts and rubies. Luckily, the rich Imperial colours suited her, unusual for someone of such a pale complexion (she and Yevgen both took after their father), so she looked regal and dignified, rather than washed-out. 

Clanking from the next room indicated that someone had bullied Justinia and the others into their draped tunics and ceremonial armour. Radanae sighed and slid into her dress, carefully positioning it so that the two traditional daggers in their sheaths strapped to her thighs were easily reachable through slits in the skirt. Not that she anticipated any trouble, of course – by the time that any trouble got through the Palace Guard, the King's Own, and the Imperial Honour Guard, things would have been so bad that she wouldn't be interested in anything other than self-preservation. She did not have any official place in the ceremony, so she could walk the short distance to the chapel where the wedding would take place, while other members of the party would take part in the meandering bridal procession through the city. 

Somebody had managed to get Yevgen up, and get him into his finery. Someone had acutely judged that the brightness of the Imperial colours didn't suit him as well as it did his sisters (unusual, since he and Kay looked so similar), and instead clothed him in more subdued tones. He settled for a silvery grey, with the sheen of silk and the depth of suede, reserving colour for his surcoat. Yevgen had a coronet as token of his rank, though his was of yellow gold and had garnets with the amethysts rather than rubies. He would not wear a sword, as token that this marriage was one made of peace, not war. (He would, of course, probably have a knife up one sleeve and a dagger in his boot, but that wasn't the _point_). The sedative had evidently worn off, and he seemed to be…well…not resigned….almost…accepting? Radanae hoped so, for she was well aware that governance was never easy at the best of times, and it helped to have someone intelligent, and capable that you got along with to help. However, if one didn't get along, ruling alone was infinitely preferable.   
  


Later, Kalasin would say that she didn't really recall very much of the events leading up to the ceremony. She had a vague impression of donning the dress, having her hair done, refusing more lip rouge, and the unfamiliar feeling of riding sidesaddle. She sensed, rather than saw, the crowds that lined the streets of Corus to wish their princess well. She knew that they were back in the Palace grounds, before the chapel, when her elder brother appeared at her stirrup to help her down. If she was riding properly, she would have needed no such assistance, but sidesaddles were a nuisance. 

Yevgen was waiting at the altar, before the priest and priestess, with a look of polite interest, which all changed when he saw her. His expressions were subtle, but Kally fancied that she could read his face by now. She had known he thought her attractive – announced it, too, on numerous occasions – but his expression, unguarded for a moment or two, was pure admiration – and a little more. She felt ridiculously pleased at that, even as he reached out a hand to hers and they stood before the priest and priestess to make their vows. Someone had special rings made – of plain gold, but adorned with the crest of old Sarain, and flanked on either side with the arms of Tortall and the Empire in little enamelled discs. She couldn't even remember their first kiss, though afterwards, Shinko, with a little snort of disgust, had remarked that it was so short that it didn't really count – more of a greeting between friends than the sealing of the contract between husband and wife. 

She must have turned, as they walked back down the aisle together, everything coming through a golden haze, until suddenly, everything was sharply, harshly clear. 

"Get down!" the shout came from a voice that was unused to panicking, but was rapidly getting the hang of it. "Find cover!" 

Things were at once slowed down so she could see them in deadly clarity, and yet so fast that she could do nothing about them. She felt the breath knocked out of her as Yevgen shoved her to the cold stone floor of the chapel, covering her body with his own. Over his shoulder, she saw archers pick off a figure from the left side – or was it right? - of the high walls, perched in the shadows formed by a flying buttress. There was screaming, and confusion, all around her, as courtiers streamed out while the King's Own, the knights (both Imperial and Tortallan), weapons drawn, scanned the rest of the building. 

There was a wetness on her hand. Curious, Kally turned her head, to find that it was covered in blood. She wasn't sure whether it was hers or not, because, just then, for the second time in just a few months, she passed out. 

Her last thought was that she hoped that it wouldn't become a habit. It was really very inconvenient.   
  
  
  
  
  
  



	14. New Beginnings

  
Chapter 14 – New Beginnings

The all-penetrating sulphurous waft of smelling salts hit the Princess Kalasin's nasal membranes with a punch, forcing her to gasp for air and sit up, her vision coming dizzyingly into focus. 

"How long have I been out?" she coughed, as soon as she managed to wipe the tears from her eyes. 

"Only a few minutes," Buri, looking resplendent in her favourite (of two) formal red gown, pocketed the little vial, then looked around. "Well, at least we now know the quickest way to clear a room." 

Most of the guests had somehow vanished while Kally was unconscious. The only ones remaining appeared to be the delegation of Imperials who had come to the wedding ceremony, the guards, and Kally's family and close friends. She tried to stand up, and Buri rushed over to assist her as she winced from the bruises she'd received from her hard landing on the stone floor. There was still blood on her hand and arm, but she couldn't feel any cuts or wounds. 

"The blood's Yevgen's" Buri said in answer to Kally's unspoken question. "One of the crossbow bolts grazed his shoulder. Baird says that it looks worse than it is, just messy…." Buri trailed off as she noticed that Kally was no longer listening, having turned to face the little crowd around her husband. 

He'd taken off his shirt and tunic for Duke Baird to examine the injury. With a start, Kally realised that it was the first time she'd seen Yevgen in any state of undress – even in the Healer's tents on the Scanran border, he'd always at least been in shirtsleeves. Perhaps it was an inappropriate time, but Kally noted that her previous musings on the subject of Yevgen without his shirt were fairly accurate – muscled without seeming bulky, with a compactness that was somewhat at odds with his tall frame. With a little noise of satisfaction, Baird cleaned the last of the blood away – there was a bloodstained cloth in a little bowl of bloody water – and then set his hands on the prince. The myriad of little cuts vanished, as though they had never been there. 

A little further away were two bodies, both dressed in nondescript clothes, near standard crossbows, of the sort impossible to trace to any specific land or manufacturer. Several of the Own and the Imperial Knights were stripping them down in order to see if there were any clues as to their identities. 

"Well," said Queen Thayet, unflappable in any crisis, "I think that a more low key celebratory meal would be more appropriate."   
  


There was still the feast in the Great Hall, of course, and it was presided over by Sir Gareth the Younger and Lady Cythera, and most of the guests took the opportunity to eat fine food and gossip about the incident during the wedding ceremony earlier in the afternoon. Every theory became more spectacular than the last, ranging from Conté cousins to other noble families, to Scanra, Galla, Maren, Cathark, Tyra – even the Empire, though that was only spoken of softly, with the bulk of the Imperial guards in the Great Hall with the Tortallan nobles. The real wedding feast, however, took place in the royal family's private dining room, with only family and friends of the two principals (who had hastily found changes of clothing) present. 

Princess Berenice changed her plans and stayed with her brother, promising to see the Imperial investigation started before she departed for Bersone. Kally had a very good idea of how she was going to do that, especially considering Yevgen's own talents in the shape-changing area, and his off-hand admission that such skills were generally more developed in female than in male members of the Imperial family. 

Predictably enough, there was a subdued tone in the meal, that nobody's skills in well-bred conversation could quite elevate. However, all things considered, nobody had ever imagined that this celebration would ever be the sort overflowing with cloying sweetness and joyful bliss anyway, so the politeness seemed to take on an almost surreal quality. 

Kally only picked at her food, only dimly aware that the chefs had taken care to prepare all her favourite dishes, but everything seemed to have a heavy tastelessness. Her parents had brought out the best in the cellars, but, again, for all she recalled of them later, they might as well have served bilge water. 

She caught a significant look between some of the members of the Imperial delegation and the prince after the desert course was removed. Yevgen gave a tight, barely perceptible nod. 

With a rustle of silk, Kay stood and offered the first toast to the newly married couple. She was followed by various others, including Kally's father. Kally had the uneasy feeling that both sides wanted Yevgen and herself out of the room so that everybody else could discuss the assassination attempt. She didn't particularly want to be in a room where people were discussing who was trying to kill her, but she was even more uncomfortable with the idea of where she and her new husband would be while all the discussions were taking place. 

Outside, the first stars had begun to appear, and the sky darkened to a deep blue-violet. They could hear the less honoured guests spill out from the feast in the main hall to laugh in the gardens. 

There was a very uncomfortable silence after everyone who could legitimately have a reason to make a toast did so. A ridiculous part of Kally thought that if anyone had drunk an entire glass at each toast, as they were meant to, they would probably be suffering from a case of liver poisoning. However, that ridiculous part was rapidly being overcome by her nervous part, as they all rose to depart from the table. Yevgen bowed over her hand before leaving with his friends, while Kally was spirited off by mother and female friends. 

When Roald and Shinko had married, this had seemed so different, Kally thought. Then, Shinko had been uncharacteristically giggly, and there had been a great deal of laughter as they escorted her to the chambers prepared for her and Roald on their wedding night. Though many of the women and girls who escorted Kally on the seemingly endless journey to her dressing room were the same, the mood could not possibly have been more different. She felt curiously detached to the whole business, as she had since that morning. It was as though she was watching another woman in the mirror as Shinko helped her remove the (slightly dented) diamond tiara and brush out her hair. She watched her own movements, as she mechanically changed out of her hastily found dinner dress and into a nightgown and wrapper of her favourite blue. 

It was not until everyone had left her room, and the door closed with a final click, that the finality of her situation really sunk in. She was alone in a small dressing room, in her nightgown, with her husband of a few hours in the next room, and probably equally as uneasy about the whole business as she was. True, they had spoken a number of times in the last few weeks, and true, he had saved her life on more than one occasion – but that didn't make what was to come any easier. 

A noise on the other side of the door, where their bedroom was, caught her attention. She wondered how long he had been there. Reminding herself that knights had to face far more formidable enemies that a rather pleasant, handsome young man, she steeled her courage and placed a hand on the doorknob.   
  
  


"We've identified one." Justinia lay a sketch on the table. "He is somewhat familiar to us, if in a very different capacity. A former aide to Duxa Zytasi Nheqtl." 

It evidently meant something to the Imperials, but to the Tortallans, the knight might just as well have been spouting gibberish. There were glances exchanged between some of them and several knowing looks. 

"A self-appointed, rather paranoid supporter of my sister." Princess Berenice explained at last. "She has, in the past, cast some fairly unwelcome and inaccurate aspersions as to our – that is, Yevgen and my – long term ambitions." It was delicately put, but everyone knew what she was talking about. There were significant looks of disapproval among the Tortallans. While no one denied that there was no shortage of heirs in any monarchical system wanting to move up the chain of succession, there was something inherently distasteful about suggestions that they were. 

There was a pause. "The timing may be significant. The engagement of the Imperial Heir, coupled with the wedding of his Highness, could very well have convinced her that it was time to begin her self-appointed task of securing the Diadem for Princess Rislyn." 

Kay rolled her eyes in a very unprincess-like way. "Who is more than welcome to it. Anyone…and, no offence meant, Majesty, who takes a crown when they could avoid it, is mad, in my opinion. But I can see your point, Ambassador," she turned to her brother's new in-laws to explain. "A fear among the more…traditional…is that my brother may now begin a cadet line eligible for the Diadem. No," she stopped the questions before they came, "it's not an objection to her Highness, either personal or political. In most Houses, females lines of succession are very much favoured over male, being more…shall we say, reliable? However, neither males, nor male lines are technically barred, and that presents a problem for the more rabid of those who are currently currying favour with my sister. Since my sister is to wed before the end of next year, it is anticipated that there will no longer be such a need for so many…ancillary heirs…before long." 

More nervous exchanged glances from all present, whether Tortallan or Imperial. Most of the Imperials here, Sir Myles gathered, were those who had staked themselves with the military-minded second Princess, hoping for the safer reflected light, rather than the direct glare of the Diadem. 

"Although," she threw up her hands. "I expect that this is an isolated incident, and is unlikely to be repeated, certainly after I go back to Bersone and have a few words with a few people. However, Ambassador, I do expect security to be increased." 

Nods. 

Lord Raoul coughed, "Sirs, Madames, we've also information on the second assailant. A Saren dissident, and supporter of the former Warlord _zhir_ Anduo. Doubtless a last attempt to sabotage the foundation of a new Sarain. We've found no sign of any sort of co-ordinated plot or plan of any kind." 

"Let's hope so, Lord Raoul," Queen Thayet sounded very weary. 

"A Saren who supported _zhir_ Anduo, and had the means to come to Tortall would be in very sparse company," Buri observed. "If there were such a group, they would be very small, but, from today, I think we an safely say that we cannot possibly dismiss anyone." 

"True." Duke Gareth stood up with noticeable creaking of joints and unfurled another chart. "Here are some other groups…"   
  


Kally lay beside her husband, listening to the soft sounds of his even breathing, feeling that soon, she too would drift off into sleep. She supposed that she should be pleased that Yevgen was a quiet sleeper, not inclined to snore or to hog the blankets, though after only a few minutes it was hard to tell. 

"I wonder what conclusion they've come to." His low tenor voice started her, and she sat up suddenly. 

"I thought you were asleep." She said weakly as soon as she recovered. 

"No," she could just make out his smile in the soft candlelight as he turned on his side and leant his head on his hand. "That would be unforgivably ill-mannered – from an Imperial perspective, anyway." His grin grew wider, and it was only then that Kally remembered to pull the sheet up to cover her front. Yevgen raised his eyebrows expressively, as though to remind her of the absurdity of that act in the circumstances, and Kally laughed and lay down again, this time facing him. 

His eyes were very dark, and in the flickering light, she couldn't make out the difference between pupil and iris. He really was terribly good-looking, and if she wasn't careful, Kally would find herself falling in love with him, which she knew would be a very bad idea. Despite the physical evidence, she knew very well that his heart was already given – and even though he had given her his oath, and she knew that he could keep it, with body and with mind – the heart didn't obey such things. 

"Well," he said lightly, trying to break the tension, "if I know my twin well, she should be careering back home right about now to try and strangle as many members of our eldest sister's circle of self-appointed cronies as possible." 

"Why?" 

A raised eyebrow. "Well, that they might have tried to kill you and I today, and will probably go after her in a few years is a fairly good reason. Succession wars are always a pain, particularly when the people who are actually involved have absolutely no intention of changing the succession. I believe that Kay and I are rather a disappointment to most of the Court. If not for you," he kissed her lightly, unexpectedly on the lips, much to Kally's surprise, "I would have been perfectly happy in some obscure post, far from the capital. Kay, of course, distresses them a great deal. She's army-mad, and the military higher-ups adore her, but she's far more likely to take herself out of the succession in some obscure border war than even consider trying to mount a coup de etat." 

Kally noticed that he did not mention Sarain, and was grateful for it. After all the…physical…had been awkward enough, if not at all unpleasant, and this could potentially have been far, far worse. 

She was about to put in her fair share of the conversation, when there was a hesitant knock at the door, and then a piece of paper pushed under it. Yevgen slid out of the bed with a slightly annoyed look on his face, and found his discarded silk robe on the floor, knotting it around his waist as he went to the door. 

Kally found herself admiring the way he moved, with a sort of easy, economical grace, as he bent and retrieved the note, conjuring a light to read by with an ease that suggested his abilities in the magical department were not quite as modest as he made them out to be. 

He sat back on the bed, still looking mildly irritated. "She must be jittery. It could have waited until morning, but it seems that she just left." He handed Kally the note. It was from his sister, apologising for any interruptions (with a slight darkening of ink for 'interruptions') and stating that so far evidence pointed to an Imperial politician whose name Kally had no idea how to pronounce, and a Saren as being responsible for the attack in the chapel. 

"She'll have started back to Bersone to confront Nhqetl. I swear, that woman gets more paranoid every year. One of the nuts at Court," he explained. "She has a very unreasonable attitude to spare heirs running around." 

Kally didn't quite know what to say about that. While she could not honestly deny that any monarchy would have difficulties should there be multiple claimants to power, the opposite would be just as bad. 

"Humm…" he appeared to be thinking. "I wonder, would you have any great objections to ...er...leaving a day or two earlier than planned? I say it because if someone wants to finish the job they tried to start today, the next opportunity will be on the road to Port Caynn. We've made no secret of our plans, and an unexpected departure should put them off balance." 

He seemed extraordinarily composed about the idea of several people actively trying to kill him, and Kally mentioned it. He blushed slightly and ducked his head. "I'm used to it. There have been half-hearted attempts before, so I have been taught how to foil them before it gets to the fist-fight stage." He sighed. "Assassination is considered a perfectly ordinary, if slightly impolite way to express a political opinion in Bersone. I confess that I'll be very glad to leave it behind." A grin. "From what I've heard of most of the K'mir and Saren lowlanders, they'll at least come at me directly with steel instead of skulking around in dark corners." 

Kally couldn't really imagine being glad to leave her home behind. She had always known that she would have to do it, for the good of Tortall, and had been resigned to it. "Will you miss any of it?" she asked him, moving over so he could get back under the covers. 

"My friends, of course – but most of them are stationed all around the Empire, so I wouldn't have seen them very often even if I was in Bersone. My family – well, my sisters, at least, can go where they please, and far quicker than almost anyone else can. (Kally knew that he wasn't talking about simply having the best horses and boats) No matter how much I like them though, I think I'll be happy to be my own person, no longer just the Empress's son, playing a very poor third to Rislyn-the-Heir and Kay-the-soldier." 

Kally could feel, even beneath his light tone and his obvious affection for both his older sisters, his desire to prove himself, his need to get away from where he was in the company of those familiar with the rest of his family. Where Kally saw Sarain as exile and obligation, he saw an opportunity to forge his own path, away from the intrigue of court. Perhaps that was better, to look to what might be, rather than what might was.   
  
  


They left for Sarain a few days later, much to the consternation of the Palace seamstresses and tailors, who had anticipated more time to make Kally's clothes. It was, as Yevgen had predicted, an incident-free ride to Port Caynn and the Imperial fleet that had come to escort their Prince and his bride to his new kingdom. However, a more cynical observer might have remarked that was equally due to the large numbers of the King's Own and various other military units keeping a wary eye on anyone who so much as looked suspicious. After the incident in the Palace Chapel itself, no one was taking any chances. 

The voyage to Sarain was calm and uneventful, and they were met at the remaining Saren port for their journey inland to the capital. Kally was unnerved at the way some of the older K'mir in their escort darted sideways glances in her direction, until Yevgen showed her some portraits of her grandmother that they'd found hidden away in a secret room in the burned out Old Palace. The resemblance wasn't really physical, as far as Kally could see, but her husband assured her that her impact was the same as that of her fabled grandmother. 

They were crowned at the beginning of winter, in a ceremony that drew primarily on old Saren and K'mir traditions, from the days before the Warlords, with slight touches of Tortallan pageantry and Imperial directness. Both of Yevgen's sisters were there – Kally was somewhat relieved to meet the slightly imperious Rislyn at last, and even more relieved to find that she was a confident, pleasant young woman with no intentions to influence the chains of succession. Kay did not speak much regarding the Imperial part of the assassination attempts, but there was a definite air of satisfaction around her. 

Though unexpectedly early winter storms had seemed to prevent Roald, Shinko and Lianne from travelling to the coronation as they had planned, the Imperials obviously had another way to travel. Kally never found out what it was, and her husband either did not know, or (more likely) was not permitted to tell her, but since both Roald and Lianne were sick for days afterwards, she hoped that she never would. 

The Empress Vanaria died the following year, just after the wedding of her elder daughter and heir. The Empress Rislyn took the Diadem, and afterwards, there was quite a dramatic change among the courtiers and power-players in the capital. A few who had counted themselves supporters of the new Empress had rather unpleasant surprises. Not only did she fail to remove her brother and sister even after she had daughters of her own, she made no attempt to hinder their own ambitions. They repaid her trust and more. Princess Berenice was one of the greatest generals even the Empire's long history had ever seen, and with her two chief lieutenants, Justinia Ferox and Felara Eriel, made an already formidable Empire all but invincible from exterior threat. Rislyn also extended the territory of Sarain, giving her brother the King governance not only of the original Kingdom, but incorporating many of the smaller principalities that lay along the Roof of the World, thus stabilising the traditionally difficult western front. For what it was worth, Sarain's new borders extended over and past the Roof to the plains on the other side, but neither King Yevgen nor Queen Kalasin were ever such fools to feel that they had to enforce it. 

As for King Yevgen and Queen Kalasin, their reign in Sarain was long and peaceful, a new Golden Age for that war-torn land, which became rich not only with its own produce, but also the trade that flourished between the lands either side of the Roof. After them, their daughter Queen Lillias (both Yevgen and Kally felt it was time to stop recycling names), an Imperial knight, continued their work, and her sons and daughters after her. 

Did they ever fall in love? Well, the great Imperial stateswoman Radanae Gavrillian, dictating her memoirs long after everyone in them was dead and gone, declared that they had been in love long before they, or anyone else, for that matter, had even so much as considered the possibility. 

But then again, she was always a romantic. 

Not.   


THE END 

  


Well, thanks for reading my first TP fanfic everyone! All the reviews were really encouraging, and please feel free to email with any further comments, etc. I am thinking of writing a sequel of sorts, but since I don't want to pre-empt future TP storylines (in case I get them horribly wrong), it would probably be set within another fantasy world. Would anyone be interested in a story set in Katherine Kurtz's Deryni world, with some of the original characters here?   



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